


vrijdag 21:37

by wasteourdaysdreaming



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Aaron's POV, Britt's POV, Gen, Implied Moyo/Noor, Jens' POV, M/M, Noor's POV, Robbe's POV, Sander's POV, Yasmina's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasteourdaysdreaming/pseuds/wasteourdaysdreaming
Summary: The same party one Friday night in February, told from different perspectives.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 107
Kudos: 530





	1. Britt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britt doesn’t think Sander ever looked at her like that.
> 
> But then, maybe, she never looked at him the way Robbe looks at him now, either.

By the time Britt gets to Jana’s house, it’s clear that the party has been going on for a few hours. She had told the girls to head there without her, being dragged to a family dinner for her little sister’s birthday. It was raining lightly as she’d biked over, that light, misting February rain that sticks to your eyelashes and sits like jewels in your hair, droplets catching the multicoloured disco lights as she enters the hallway. Jana appears, as if out of nowhere, already tipsy with her long hair catching her lip gloss. 

“You’re here!” Jana says, gleeful, throwing an arm around Britt’s neck in a clumsy hug. She’s warm, and she smells like alcohol and perfume, and Britt is briefly reminded of when they were _best_ friends, before Jens and — everything else. But she returns the hug briefly, arm around her waist. She loves Jana, still, but she’s hated her too and Britt knows it will never be the same again.

Jana sways back, pulling Britt with her while rambling about cups and alcohol in the kitchen and where Britt should put her coat, pulling at Britt’s scarf. Britt knows all of this, of course; she’s been to Jana’s house countless times, knows how Jana throws a party. She lifts the bottle of wine in her hand, shaking it slightly. 

“I’m all set, thanks!” Britt starts. “Sorry I’m late, my little sister-“

“Jana!” They’re interrupted by Zoë, suddenly at Jana’s side, lipstick red and bleached hair turning from blue to green to red under the disco light. She’s perfect, Britt thinks, swallowing the bitter feeling that rises quickly and unbidden at the back of her throat. It’s not that she dislikes Zoë - Zoë’s nice. But she’s smart and sharp and beautiful, and she’s Jana’s best friend now. “Oh, hi, Britt!” She tugs at Jana’s hand again, pulling her away. “Luka wants you. Beer pong.” 

Jana squeals, throwing her arms up, and Zoë laughs. She spares Britt a small smile before they disappear amongst the mass of bodies in the living room, leaving Britt alone in the hall. 

Sighing, Britt pulls off her scarf, her hair tangling briefly in the material, before hooking it over the coat-stand by the door, her puffer jacket following. There’s a mirror by the door as well, for that quick once over before you rush out, and she checks her reflection, tucking her hair behind her ear and dapping at the side of her mouth to check her lipgloss, before walking towards the door to the living room.

The house is full, music throbbing in her ears and the air humid with the mass of bodies. She finds the girls on the couch in the living room, and they cheer when they see her, arms reaching up for her to lean down and hug them, pressing kisses to their cheeks. They’re halfway to drunk already, giggly and giddy, telling her what she’s missed in the two hours they’ve had to endure without her. She can’t hear them very well over the music and the chatter, but she smiles all the same, happy to soak up the attention that they throw at her. Britt is the centre of gravity in this circle; they orbit around her. It’s not the same as it was with Jana, and it’s not even the same with Noor — especially now — but they’re fine friends. 

Britt is ready for a drink, though, so she lifts the bottle in the same gesture she showed Jana, pointing behind her to the door and raising her voice slightly to be heard. “I’ll be back in a second!” 

She passes more people she knows on her way to the kitchen, saying hi and nodding her acknowledgement. She sees Yasmina coming down the stairs once she gets to the hallway, her eyelashes dark and her hijab a deep maroon, beautiful as ever. They share a look when they both notice Aaron pressing Amber against the wall as they share what looks like a very wet and messy kiss. They don’t speak to each other, though. Britt has the distinct feeling that Yasmina doesn’t like her very much, and she can’t really be bothered trying to change her mind. 

She hears Moyo before she sees him, whooping about something happening in the kitchen. And she falters briefly, because if Moyo’s here, that means Jens is here, and that means— 

She wasn’t prepared to see Sander tonight. Jana was her friend, after all, she hadn’t really considered the possibility that Sander would be here. But Jana was also friends with Jens — or maybe more, Britt wasn’t sure anymore and she didn’t really want to know. It was better for all three of them if they just kept their relationships separate. But if Jens was here, that meant Robbe was here, because the Broerrrs very rarely went anywhere unless it was as a foursome — and now, more often than not, that foursome was actually five. 

She hasn’t seen Sander since December. Since he’d admitted himself and before he’d disappeared, before she saw the drawing of Robbe on the table and known, then and there, that it wasn’t mania. But she’s searched for him all the same, leaving Robbe alone in Sander’s room, because she loved him, even if he no longer loved her back. But Robbe had found him, the next day, and Sander had slept in Robbe’s bed that night and what seemed like almost every night since, and that had been that. She knew, really, that it was already over, that Sander had broken up with her countless times, but it was Robbe’s _“He’s staying with me tonight.”_ that had done it. They were done, and Sander and Robbe were in love. 

He wasn’t home when she had returned the things that he’d left at her house, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad. But she could have done without that look in Sander’s mother’s eyes, the pity. His mother didn’t need to tell her where he was, but she knew: he was with Robbe. And the guilt that followed the pity told Britt that Robbe was liked more than she ever had been. 

Zoë had been the one to return her belongings to her, like some weird game of pass the parcel, from Sander to Robbe to Zoë to Britt. She didn’t know if she should be happy or sad about that either. 

For the most part, Robbe avoided her at school — or at least didn’t spare her his attention. And she returned the favour. They didn’t need to like each other — they hadn’t when she’d been with Jens and they certainly weren’t going to like each other now. They were never going to be friends, despite these clumsy relationships connecting them, but they understood each other, in a way. Britt knew how she treated Sander, and Robbe knew that he was the reason that Sander cheated on her, and they both knew that Robbe was the one Sander had chosen, the one that Sander was in love with. She couldn’t force him to love her, and, slowly, she realised she didn’t want to. She would find someone that loved her, in the way that Jens loved Jana or Sander loved Robbe. 

Thankfully, the kitchen is almost as busy as the living room, and Britt can mostly duck unnoticed behind others to get to the plastic cups sitting on the kitchen counter. Moyo commands the room, telling some ridiculous story with flare while Jens laughs and encourages him, filming him on his phone. All eyes are on Moyo, except for the two boys Britt notices huddled in the corner, and her chest goes tight. 

They don’t see her, thank God, too caught up in their quiet conversation, oblivious to the world around them. They look good together, she notes vaguely. Different to the way her and Sander looked together with their similar colouring, pale eyes and pale hair, lightly tanned skin. Instead, Sander and Robbe are like yin and yang; Robbe all warm tones to complement Sander’s cool one. Sander is leant you against the kitchen counter, legs spread to lower himself to his boyfriend’s height as Robbe stands between his legs. The smaller boy’s hand rests lightly against Sander’s collarbone, knuckles pressing softly against Sander’s skin as he holds a bottle of beer. His other hand cards gently through the white hair at the nape of Sander’s neck as they murmur to each other. They’re so close that their fringes brush against each other, Robbe’s dark curls stark against Sander’s cowlick. The way Robbe’s shirt pulls tight against his shoulder blades shows how tightly Sander is gripping the material, keeping Robbe as close as possible. His eyes flit from Robbe’s eyes to Robbe’s grinning mouth, roaming his face as if he can’t decide where to focus, as if he’s too tempted by all of him to devote his attention to just one feature. 

Britt doesn’t think Sander ever looked at her like that. 

But then, maybe, she never looked at him the way Robbe looks at him now, either. 

She drops her gaze as the boys kiss, mouths hovering a breath apart for a few seconds before meeting, as if each kiss between them was one to be cherished, to be savoured. It’s not the first time Britt is witnessing them together like this -- but her vision had been tainted red when she had seen them together outside the school, angry, embarrassed, betrayed. 

She’s seen the Instagram posts as well. Robbe and Sander are _that_ couple. 

“Robbe!” Jens calls, trying to catch the smaller boy’s attention. “Sander!” And there it is, Britt thinks: he’s one of them, now. He’s integrated into Robbe’s friend group seamlessly in a way he never did with Britt’s (and she acknowledges the sting it leaves when she thinks about the fact that the friend group is largely one and the same). “You can do that later,” Jens laughs, “come over here!” 

Both the boys are laughing as they pull apart, slowly, reluctant to let each other go. And Britt uses the opportunity to duck out of the kitchen again, unseen. She knows that there’s a chance she’ll bump into them again tonight, or if not tonight, at another party, but that’s okay. 

She’ll deal with it.


	2. Jens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Robbe had first told Jens about Sander, it wasn’t the boy aspect that surprised him, per se, but the Sander part. 
> 
> Or: Jens doesn't notice a lot of things -- until he does.

Sometimes, Jens thinks, trying to get all of the Broerrrs moving in the same direction is like trying to corral small children -- or maybe headless chickens. Jens guesses they have roughly the same attention span. In the fifteen minute walk from pre-drinks at Moyo’s to Jana’s party, Moyo had forgotten his keys and made them wait out in the rain while he went back to get them; Aaron, already tipsy due to his low alcohol tolerance, had tripped over a bicycle that had slid to the ground from where it was chained to a lamppost because he wasn’t looking where he was going; and Robbe and Sander were too distracted with competing to see who could give the other a piggy back for longer to walk in a straight line (to which Sander had cheekily responded was impossible for either him or Robbe in the first place when Jens had said as much). 

(Sander won.)

By the time they get there, it’s closer to nine than it is half-past eight, and most of the regular party-goers appear to be there already. Jens enters the house first, joint tucked behind his ear, followed by Sander, using their height to carve a path through the bodies in the busy hallway towards the living room. He feels the eyes that flick to the both of them immediately, appreciative, curious, eager, raking over their tall frames. Robbe must notice, too, because Jens sees him shift closer to Sander out the corner of his eye, arm wrapping around his boyfriend’s waist under his leather jacket. Jens bites back a smile, amused by his best friend’s jealousy and the notion that Sander would be at all interested in anyone else at the party -- or anyone else, _ever_. Sander seems unphased by the stares -- used to them -- and attentive to Robbe’s anxieties, draping his own arm over Robbe’s shoulders and brushing a soft kiss to the smaller boy’s temple. Robbe leans into it for the briefest of moments, soft smile pulling at his lips before tilting his head up quickly for a kiss. 

Jens rolls his eyes. They might be slightly ridiculous. 

When Robbe had first told Jens about Sander, it wasn’t the _boy_ part that surprised him, per se, but the _Sander_ part. Jens had struggled to put them together in his head; he hadn’t noticed them interact all that much at the beach -- which, Jens realised, didn’t mean that they _hadn’t_ interacted, just that he hadn’t noticed (which, he later acknowledged with guilt, had been a common theme in relation to his best friend for a while). But Robbe had also been with Noor then -- and Jens and the boys had been too impressed with Robbe managing to score Noor -- _Noor_ \-- as his girlfriend to notice the way the smaller boy often looked like he’d rather be anywhere else that didn’t involve having Noor hanging off him in some way or another. Noor was beautiful, and cool, and arty, and quick as a whip and she gave as good as she got -- better, even -- when it came to the boys’ banter. Jens had just passed off Robbe’s skittishness as him being self-conscious, not used to being in a relationship, wanting to keep things between him and Noor private for now, while it was still new and fresh.

(Watching Robbe and Sander now, as they move through Jana’s house throughout the night, it’s evident that that wasn’t Robbe’s problem. He practically hangs off of Sander, their fingers intertwined, Robbe’s arms wrapped around Sander’s neck, his hands fisted in the blonde’s jacket, his t-shirt, his hair. They’re _loud_ , their love is loud -- undeniable.)

  
Before, Jens struggled to picture the two of them together. Now, he struggles to imagine it any other way; it’s weird to think of a time when Sander wasn’t part of their group, wasn’t one of the boys.

When Jens had first met him at the beach, Sander -- Britt’s boyfriend, Jens’ _ex’s_ boyfriend -- seemed cool, if perhaps a bit aloof, with his band shirts and his bleached hair and his Doc Martens. But again, Jens didn’t really think much of it; he was mildly impressed by Sander’s willingness to spend a week in the middle of nowhere getting drunk with some strangers for his girlfriend, but that just meant he was a good boyfriend. (Jens now knows that Sander had an ulterior motive. Sander had told him once, simply: he knew Robbe was going to be there and Sander wanted an excuse to get to know him. Jens admired his dedication, and marvelled again at the depth of Sander’s love for his best friend.) But at the beach, they hadn’t exchanged more than small talk in the evenings by the fire, mundane conversations about school and movies and what they thought was the best strategy for dealing with a zombie apocalypse (which they still argue about now, actually: Jens thinks shot-gun, Sander thinks underground bunker. Robbe was booed when he tried to suggest something about a vaccine). They bumped into each other in the kitchen one morning, after they’d gone out for Halloween, Sander holding a mug of black coffee with fake blood still smudged on his face while Jens stumbled around, squinting and trying in vain to find something that would cure his hangover. Sander had been chill, funny, willing to go along with paintball and the pranks and the general arbitrary chatter with people you didn’t know that well, and Jens thought fleetingly that they’d probably be friends if they’d gone to the same school, had the same social circle -- realising with amusement that that made sense, if Britt had dated both of them. 

(Jens had been right: him and Sander get on like a house on fire. Robbe jokes about how it makes him jealous, sometimes.)

Seeing Sander again at the cafe had been cool, if brief, and Jens had been reminded of how much he’d liked the guy. He had also noticed the frostiness in Robbe’s gaze as he looked at the older boy, and the happiness in Sander’s face at seeing Robbe, but Jens just figured that there had been some drama with Noor; maybe Britt had gotten Sander to speak to Robbe about the break-up or something. Jens knew that they’d hung out as a four before -- they’d gone to a bar, apparently, but Robbe hadn’t said much about it when Jens had asked, snappy and defensive.

(He knows why, now.)

It had all started to piece together a bit more when Robbe told him -- when Robbe explained why he had been acting so strange. Yes, he’d been stressed about his mum, and adjusting to living in the flatshare, and the upcoming exams he hadn’t studied enough for yet, and he was still pissed at his dad for leaving and nagging and trying to convince Robbe to move so far away. But it was more than that: it was _about someone he was in love with_. 

_Someone_ , Robbe had said, _not Noor_. Jens really hadn’t been paying enough attention. 

On reflection, Jens wasn’t sure how to feel about Robbe’s surprise at Jens’ reaction to his coming out -- not that that moment had really been about Jens at all. But still, Robbe was his best friend, his brother, they’d known each other since they were four. Robbe’s concern that that would all change simply because Robbe was _gay_ \-- or, at least, in love with a _boy_ \-- had made Jens sad. If Robbe was happy, Jens couldn’t care less about who he was in love with -- as long as it wasn’t Jana, and Robbe’s incredulousness when Jens had asked had put that thought to bed pretty quickly. 

He’d made his exasperation clear when Robbe had told him about Sander kissing Britt. When he’d returned to the table with their drinks (with Robbe’s _ordinary coffee, for fuck’s sake, Robbe, that didn’t require the menu_ ), they’d talked about it a bit more. About how Robbe and Sander met that morning at the beach, awake before anyone else, and the trip to the supermarket, and Sander shoving Robbe into a tower of boxes -- which Robbe had laughed about softly with a confused arch of his eyebrow, sardonic and self-deprecating, while Jens was left slightly baffled by his friend’s definition of flirting when he’d seen Robbe act so smoothly, so confidently, with Noor only weeks before. (He’s still baffled: Sander and Robbe flirt weirdly.) Robbe told him about that first kiss, after Noor had yelled at him and Britt had run after her, but he had kept his cards close to his chest, evidently wanting to keep the details to himself and Sander. Robbe told Jens about how he’d panicked the next morning, blocking Sander, and the words he’d spat at Sander the following day. Words that made Jens flinch slightly hearing them fall from his best friend’s mouth -- at a whisper, after Robbe, gaze dropping to his fidgeting hands on the table, had shifted uncomfortably and muttered the words with shame colouring his tone -- because this was _Robbe_ , and Robbe was the _nice_ one. Sure, Jens had heard Moyo throw such language around before, and Aaron in his attempts to copy Moyo -- but Jens never said it himself, and he certainly didn’t expect Robbe to. 

He had remembered, suddenly, of Robbe’s outburst during the previous school year, with Milan. And Jens put together another piece of the puzzle. 

Jens didn’t need to call Robbe out for that one. It had been clear that Robbe already knew that what he did was wrong. 

Things had shifted between the two friends after Robbe told Jens, clicking back into place, and Jens was relieved, happy to have his best friend back in a way that he’d missed over the past few months. But it was clear still that Robbe wasn’t _happy_. The mural had been amazing. Jens was genuinely stunned by Sander’s skill, by the sheer size of the piece the blonde boy had dedicated -- devoted -- to his best friend; a declaration of his love and an apology rolled into one vibrant splash of colour in a grey corner of Antwerp. (He’d asked Sander about it, once, early on into Robbe and Sander’s relationship. Sander had dipped his head, unusually bashful, and muttered a quiet _thanks_ when Jens complimented the piece. _I meant it, you know_ , Sander had said later that day, _he’s the most important thing_. Jens had just nodded, clinking his beer bottle against Sander’s.) But when they first found it, Moyo had opened his stupid mouth, and Aaron had laughed, because Aaron always laughed at whatever Moyo said, and Robbe’s defensive so, his cornered expression and the tight set of his shoulders, had pushed Jens into action, into not-quite-a-lie. _Noor sprays._

And then Moyo had messaged Noor, unable to leave it alone, and Noor had replied, said that it wasn’t hers. And Robbe had looked at Jens for help, because Robbe couldn’t, not yet, so Jens told them: Sander painted the mural, not Noor. And Jens knew, in that second, why Robbe hadn’t been ready. 

_Gross_. 

Jens doesn’t think he’d ever been prouder than when Robbe stood up for himself, told Moyo that it was mutual. He’d never been more heartbroken for his friend either when he then quickly walked off, head down, bag slipping off one shoulder. Had never hated Moyo more when he’d pleaded with Jens to tell him it was a joke. 

_Do you see me laughing?_

(He knows that Moyo apologised to Robbe, and that Aaron did a lot of Googling. Moyo told Sander about his mum, a gentle assurance that he understood, at least in some way, and that he was there if he ever needed to talk. They’re all good now: Sander is one of them.)

When Robbe had posted that Insta that following Saturday, his best friend and his best friend’s _boyfriend_ , cuddling on Robbe’s bed with peaceful smiles on their faces, and that loud, _loud_ caption ( _“What closet?”_ ) Jens had started to get it, started to see how they worked. He had instantly liked the photo, before pulling up his private chat with Robbe. _What did I tell you??_ he’d typed, with that winking emoji with its tongue sticking out. 

_Aha!_ , Robbe had replied, an hour later, before the speech bubble popped up again: _Thanks man x_. Jens had simply replied with an orange heart -- and the smirking emoji, because he was still allowed to tease Robbe about his love life, regardless of whether Robbe’s partner was a girl or a boy. 

Robbe had been so happy that week, practically glowing, flying, floating on cloud nine. He had pranked Moyo, recruiting Milan’s help, and he’d laughed more at school, looking more rested than he had in weeks. He’d fooled around at the skatepark and bantered with the boys, and had sent Jens a rather cryptic message about some sort of treat from the Sint that Jens decidedly didn’t want to know more about. 

And then everything had gone to shit, and it was like Robbe deflated, lost his wings, a broken angel, an Icarus that flew too close to his sun. 

He knows that Sander was burned as well, that his fall was maybe greater than Robbe’s. 

Jens had been confused, then furious, days later when he found out what Britt had said about Sander, that Robbe was nothing more than his mania. Jens didn’t know anything about being bipolar, but Moyo did, and if Moyo, oddly sincere in that moment -- maybe the most serious Jens had ever seen him -- said that it wasn’t mania, then it wasn’t mania. Sander _loved_ Robbe, and Robbe _loved_ Sander, and on another occasion, Jens would have been tempted to simply lock them both in a small room with the threat of not letting either of them out until they talked because this was getting ridiculous, but he realised that probably wasn’t appropriate given the current circumstances. Jens was angry for Sander (even more so now), at people taking away his voice and his agency and his _boyfriend_ , and he was exasperated with Robbe for listening to everyone else but himself, but understood his best friend’s trepidation, terrified of making everything worse than it already was. He was sad for both of them, separated and lost and hurting and in love. Jens was pissed at Britt, for being controlling, for being downright nasty, for being that person he glimpsed occasionally when they had been together, for being that person he’d seen so vividly when he was with Jana. He was mad at her for telling Robbe that Sander’s breakdown was his fault, when it so clearly wasn’t. And he was pissed at Jana, because she of all people knew what Britt could be like, and she knew what Robbe was like, and she’d still got involved, still told Robbe to stay away from Sander, as if that was the best thing for either boy when, as far as Jens was concerned, they needed each other then more than ever.

He’d cornered Jana in the corridor at school that week, pulled her gently against the lockers as she smiled that usual smile, sharp and flirty, that had been directed at him so many times, and Jens had felt a shiver of heat down his spine before ignoring it, barreling on, asking her what she’d been thinking. He’d watched as that grin had slipped from her face, as Jana morphed from indignant, to confused, to contrite. She did know what Britt could be like, and, no, she didn’t really know anything about Sander’s illness -- but she’d been trying to help. Her silence was deafening when Jens asked who, exactly, she was supposed to be helping, and his side felt cold when he let go of her elbow and walked away. 

(She sent Jens a message the following week, letting him know that she’d apologised to Robbe. Jens hadn’t really known how to respond, perhaps more influenced by his own feelings in that moment than he should have been, saddened by this rift between them that Britt had caused, that Jana had caused, that he had caused -- a mess of their own making. _Okay_ , he’d replied in the end.) 

Jens hadn’t really understood what was going on when Sander had sent Robbe a message that Monday morning, only that if Sander was texting Robbe, that meant he must have been somewhere safe. And Jens had understood even less when Robbe had stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the school hallway, whispering “Chernobyl,” of all things and muttering a quick sorry before dashing down the corridor. Jens had been left to watch his best friend’s retreating back with a furrowed brow, before pulling out his phone, texting Robbe, telling him to let him know what was going on when he had the chance. 

Robbe replied, hours later: _I found him. He’s with me now._

Jens had responded instantly, silent mode on his phone disabled for once so he would know exactly when Robbe replied. _Thank fuck, is he okay???_

_He will be._

Jens had finally seen Sander again that Friday, in his layered t-shirts and socked feet, looking a little tired but at home in Robbe’s flat. They had shared a typical bro-like handshake, and Jens had watched happily as Moyo had pulled Sander in for shoulder-bump, calling him Jack Frost and letting Jens know in that instant that Moyo had claimed Sander as one of their own. He’d laughed outright at Aaron, who awkwardly hugged Sander, and he’d been poorless at the expression on Sander’s face as Aaron pulled away, beyond curious to know what ridiculous thing his friend had said now to cause such a reaction. 

(Robbe told him, days later at the skatepark, when he’d casually mentioned that he was recruiting Jens’ help in the Protect Sander From Aaron Squad. Sander had apparently told Robbe that he was scared of what Aaron meant by “being a fan”, and didn’t quite know what to do with his newly self-appointed Number One Fan.) 

Later, after a round of beer pong (which Jens and Moyo lost, thanks to Sander and Robbe’s stupid soulmate energy) Jens watches, equal parts horrified and amused, as Sander’s Number One Fan latches onto Amber mouth-first as they make their way from the living room to the kitchen. They leave Aaron there in the hallway, happy to avoid witnessing anymore.

There are a few cheers when they enter the room, the girls and some other friends from school scattered around Jana’s kitchen, and Moyo woops when he sees them, cup raised in the air. Yasmina and Zoë are evidently doing their best to keep everything relatively tidy, picking up empty cans and bottles around the room, but Zoë abandons her task when she sees Robbe and Sander, pulling them into a hug. (He knows the boys miss the flatshare, and he knows that Zoë misses them.) Luka uses the opportunity to grab the beer cans in Yasmina’s hands, placing them firmly on the table next to a plastic IKEA box that is evidently serving as some kind of punch-bowl, clearly her way of telling Yasmina to worry about it later. She grabs both of Yasmina’s hands, still raised like she’s holding phantom rubbish, and Luka sways them both to the music that can be heard from the living room, Yasmina giving in and dancing along. Jana tumbles into the kitchen, then, long hair streaming down her back as she reaches for Zoë, laughing brightly. Jana wraps her arms around the shorter girl, spinning them in the middle of the kitchen. Jana makes a delighted noise when she spots Jens over her friend’s shoulder -- and Jens loves her so much in that moment that it almost takes his breath away. 

He still has hope for them, secretly. 

He notices Sander and Robbe settle in the corner of the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sharing a single bottle of beer between them, happy to be on the sidelines of the chaos, completely focused on one another.

How could he not have hope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone have a specific POV they would like to read?
> 
> Thank you for your comments on the first chapter!❤️


	3. Noor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbe had posted that photo on Instagram that weekend, out and proud with Sander’s forehead pressed to his temple (lying on sheets that Noor had spread herself out on) and she had started to wonder if maybe Britt had been wrong. Sander’s love of Bowie had prevailed, after all. Maybe this love would too. 

Noor was running late. 

She’d got caught up at the garages, spray-painting the trucks, too focused on what she was doing to pay any real attention to the time. It was only once she’d added the finishing touches to her piece, pushing her mask down to hang around her neck, that she pulled her phone from the pocket of her slacks. A message was waiting for her, the bright light of the screen casting shadows across her angular features, catching her septum ring. 

From: Britt (21:36)  
 _Where are you?_

“Shit,” Noor muttered, typing out a quick response: _on my way now!_ She’d promised Britt that she would go to Jana’s party tonight, but she’d known that her friend was going to be late getting there herself, stuck at a meal for her little sister that Noor knew Britt didn’t want to go to in the first place. Noor could have gone to Jana’s herself -- they were her friends too now, after all -- but she knew that Britt didn’t love it when Noor spent time with certain members of the friend-group without her. Not that Britt’s opinion influenced Noor’s decision -- she’d hung out with them all plenty of times without Britt -- but she wanted to support her friend too, still reeling slightly from the events from last year. So when Britt had asked her to come to the party (even though Noor had already been invited by Jana, and Robbe, and Moyo), she had decided that, this time, she wouldn’t be there until her friend was. If Britt felt like she was walking into the lion’s den, Noor wanted to help her -- even if it meant continuing to ignore the elephant in the room, the reason that Britt didn’t enjoy going to certain parties anymore. 

And now Noor was late.

The speech bubble instantly appeared under Noor’s reply: _Liar_. Noor scoffed quietly to herself, rolling her eyes at her friend, before she made her way down the metal stairs. She still wasn’t fully satisfied with the work she’d done tonight, but it would have to do for now (she could always ask Sander for his opinion). Her white trainers were speckled with neon splashes of paint, catching her eye as she shouted her goodbyes, a chorus of farewells echoing throughout the space. Her helmet, surrounded by stray cans and brushes and random equipment, sat on a makeshift workbench -- a stray square of plywood one of the others had dragged in from off the street somewhere. The _Fuck Trump_ sticker was fading slightly, and the helmet scratched. One corner of the sticker was covered by another, the red border overlapped by a cartoon drawing of Luca, gifted to her by the girl herself at that Christmas party at Robbe’s flat (because Luca was the best Christmas present that anyone could ask for, _obviously_ ). Noor pulled the helmet on, her blunt fringe flattening against her forehead, and threw her bag across her shoulder as she reached her scooter. She clasped the straps closed under her chin one-handed as she pulled up her conversation with Britt again, snapping a quick selfie, tongue sticking out and her eyes shut, the scooter clearly visible in the background. 

To: Britt (22:21)  
 _Okok, omw NOW_

Again, the reply was immediate: _Sander and Robbe are here._

Noor sighed as she read the message, dark lips pursing together briefly as she tried to come up with a suitable response. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, moving in small circles as she searched for the right words. Slowly, she tapped out an _okay_ , hesitating before hitting send and swiftly pocketing her phone. There was no point in riling Britt up by giving her any ammunition, not when Noor would be seeing her so soon in person -- and Noor probably wasn’t going to give Britt the reaction she had been hoping for anyway. Britt said she was fine, over it, it was no big deal, but Noor knew that wasn’t the case; Britt had successfully avoided any risk of bumping into either of the boys for over two months now -- and Noor knew that both Britt and Robbe basically ignored each other’s existence at school if they did see each other. There was still a part of Britt that was hurt by the fact that Sander hadn’t picked her, that still felt the need to drop a snide comment about one of the boys every now and again, the nasty streak in her that reared its head every so often. It made things difficult sometimes, because as far as Noor was concerned, she was over all of the drama concerning the two boys -- she had been as soon as Robbe had shown up at her work and held up that hideous suit while asking, sheepish grin stretching across his face, if they stocked it in purple. Maybe even before that. Noor was moving on; it wasn’t like Robbe was ever going to fall in love with her anyway, Sander or no Sander, and she knew how genuinely sorry Robbe was for the way he had treated her. 

Noor had regrets too; for pushing Robbe to take things further when he clearly wasn’t ready; for screaming at him, overbearing and irrational, that night he was late for their double date; for the words she’d spat at him in that club, angry and hurt, feeling powerful surrounded by her own people while Robbe, with a bandage above his eyebrow and an arm curved protectively around his ribs, looked guilty and cowed. Noor hadn’t been perfect, either, she realised. 

And when she’d seen the boys together, as a couple, for the first time at the Christmas party, it hadn’t stung in the way she had expected it to. She had hugged Robbe, smiling as he greeted her, sincere when she told him, in kind, that she was glad she came. Sander had hovered quietly behind Robbe, sheepish, shoulders hunched in a self-conscious attempt to make himself look smaller in a space he so clearly felt at home in. He smiled all the same when she sat down next to him on the couch, between him and Robbe, looking pleasantly surprised when Noor had told him she was his Secret Santa, clearly delighted with his gift. Noor had returned the hug he gave her warmly, and Robbe had nudged her knee with his own when Sander let her go, mouthing a silent _thank you_ when she turned to look at him. She’d winked, patting Robbe’s knee briefly, and she’d found herself smiling fondly, without a hint of envy, when Robbe had reached across her to get Sander’s attention when Milan had wished for a cute boy. 

Britt has sent her a string of question marks when that photo was posted on Instagram: Noor, sitting in the middle of the couch between the two boys, her hands cupping their faces, Sander pressing a kiss to her cheek while Robbe grinned contentedly at the camera. Noor had waited until the next day to respond. She didn’t know how to tell Britt yet how good they were together, how well they fit now that she had actually seen it, how in love they obviously were. 

(She'd tried to broach the subject with Britt numerous times in the two months since then. Britt had gone from vehemently against it, to uncertain, to tentatively accepting. She still hadn't been ready to speak to either of them, however.) 

The thing was, Noor couldn’t really find it in herself to be mad at Sander, anyway-- at least, not now. She had been, at first, for her best friend and for herself, but she was self-aware enough to recognise that her own feelings had been fuelled by jealousy more than anything else. Noor _liked_ Sander: they were similar, they got on well. She hadn’t really known what to think when everything had actually been happening, confused by Sander’s role in all of it. Initially, Britt had simply brushed it all off as Sander’s bipolar, Robbe just another infatuation in a string of obsessions, a new project, another thing to be picked up and played with as quickly as it would then be forgotten. It had been Robbe’s fault, really, for entertaining it, Britt said, for thinking it was all real. And at first, it seemed like Britt was right: Sander had come crawling back with his tail between his legs, dark bruise high on the curve of his cheekbone (on the same day that Noor noticed the bandage on Robbe’s brow), and Noor had decided that she didn’t know enough about bipolar disorder to make any judgements on it. Britt and Sander got back together, and Noor and Robbe didn’t — and Noor felt a brief pang of pity for the boy that she had liked so much being left behind in the way he had left her. 

But then Moyo had sent Noor a message a few days later, after Britt took Sander back: a portrait of Robbe, feet tall, sprayed against brickwork she recognised vaguely from near the skatepark. And she knew that style, saw the subtle self-portrait masked by Robbe’s face, two boys intertwined, indecipherable, unable to tell where one boy stopped and the other began. She’d told Moyo it wasn’t her’s (and admitting that had hurt still, a little, at the time, because Robbe was too nice to get over so quickly), but she didn’t bother to tell him who the real artist was. She decided not to tell Britt about it either, for fear of hurting her friend more. If it was just another fleeting fantasy of Sander’s, Britt didn’t need to know. 

Robbe had posted that photo on Instagram that weekend, out and proud with Sander’s forehead pressed to his temple (lying on sheets that Noor had spread herself out on) and she had started to wonder if maybe Britt had been wrong. Sander’s love of Bowie had prevailed, after all. Maybe this love would too. 

(She knew it would when she saw them at the flat in December, as the two boys kissed, grinning against each other’s mouths, in the middle of the room surrounded by cheers -- Noor’s included.)

Back then, though, Britt had phoned her that Wednesday after Moyo sent her the mural, after Robbe had posted that photo, her friend seething and embarrassed and confused, and told her about what she’d seen: Sander and Robbe, outside the school -- Britt’s school (and Robbe’s school, Noor had thought but hadn’t said) -- kissing. Noor had kept quiet, standing on the pavement outside her own school and kicking her boot softly against the wheel of the scooter as Britt ranted about how Sander was an asshole, about how Robbe was an idiot, about how Britt wished Noor had never introduced Sander to her in the first place. 

(That thought had crossed Noor’s mind a few times as well: that, in a way, all of this was her doing. She was the one that had brought Britt to that party early in the year, where Britt hadn’t known anyone other than Noor. She was the one that had introduced Britt to Sander, who Noor knew vaguely from school, and parties, and less-than-legal art initiatives. She was the one that had egged Britt on, had shot her a wide-eyed look and a grin as Britt had flirted shamelessly, tucking her long hair demurely behind her ear and her eyes flitting down Sander’s tall frame and up again. Noor was the one Britt complained to, after the couple got together, when Sander was being “weird”, or distant, or cold. Noor was who Britt spent her time with when Sander disappeared inside himself and his thoughts and his art.) 

(Noor had thought the same thing about Britt when Robbe broke up with her that night, sniffling into her soup. Britt hadn’t introduced them, per se, but she was the reason Noor was at that house in the first place.) 

(It was difficult to tell who was to blame after the week at the beach: Noor was Britt’s friend, but she was Robbe’s boyfriend, and Noor had gone because both Robbe and Britt were going, and Britt was going because Noor was going but also because her other friends were going, and Sander was going because he was Britt’s boyfriend -- but, it later turned out, because he also wanted an excuse to meet Robbe properly. The blame-game got more complicated after the beach, Britt and Noor’s stories intertwining even more, Robbe and Sander adding their own chapters that no one had known about.)

Sander deleted all references to Britt from his Instagram that week, and posted a selfie of himself and Robbe, the words underneath leaving no question: _cause we’re lovers, and that is a fact._

Britt remained adamant that Sander would come back to her -- that he _did_. Noor didn’t really think that it counted given the fact that Sander had a _breakdown_ , and gave up arguing when Britt blamed Robbe for everything, tired of being dragged into something that she’d rather just forget about.

Britt messaged her, late that Monday when Sander had been missing for a day and no one had known where to look: _Robbe found him. He’s okay._ Then, a minute later: _I think it’s really over…_

Noor had replied: _I’m glad he’s alright. Are you ok?_

 _Not really,_ Britt had replied. Noor hadn’t known what to say. It hadn’t been the time to point out that for Sander, at least, it had already been over -- that it had been half-over maybe even before either Sander or Noor had even met Robbe Ijzermans. 

_You will be_ , she’d responded. She’d received a heart in return, and if Britt cried quietly into Noor’s shoulder when they saw each other two days later, no one else needed to know. 

* * *

It was still busy out as Noor drove to Jana’s, the pavements damp with fallen rain and shining under the streetlights. She could hear music faintly from the open front door of the house as she pulled into the street, a few party-goers spilling out into the front garden. It was louder once Noor killed the engine, knocking the kick-stand down with her foot. She’d collect the scooter tomorrow, planning to crash at Britt’s for the night. She pulled her helmet off as she weaved through the people on the garden path, shaking her hair out and stepping deftly over a couple sitting on the front step, half-sprawled over the doorway. The hallway was crowded, people leaning against the walls in varying degrees of sobriety, cigarette smoke hanging above their heads, the smell of weed filling her nose. 

She spotted Aaron and Amber by the bottom of the stairs, Amber leaning against the banister and laughing at something Aaron had just said, Aaron’s grin widening at her reaction. Noor was glad that things seemed to be working out between the two of them; Robbe had mentioned Aaron’s crush in passing to her when they were at the beach, and she’d joined in with the friendly teasing when Amber kissed Aaron at the party. Amber’s gaze flicked briefly over to Noor, as if she felt her eyes on her, and she waved happily. Aaron turned, curious to see who his girlfriend was greeting. “Noor!” he shouted, swaying slightly, evidently a few drinks in. Noor waved back, helmet dangling from her other hand, before pointing towards the living room and mouthing “Britt!”. That seemed to placate Aaron, who let out a knowing “ah” before he turned and pulled Amber into a kiss, Amber’s arms wrapping around his neck. Noor bit back a laugh, evidently already forgotten about, her teeth digging briefly into her bottom lip, before making her way into the living room. 

It seemed less crowded than the hallway, as living rooms often did when parties dragged into the night; people getting caught up in conversations on their way to the kitchen or the bathroom, as they headed outside for a smoke then staying there, in the February night, until their teeth were chattering and they were rubbing harshly against their bare arms, jackets forgotten inside the house and their breath misting in front of their faces. It was Noor’s favourite time, when everyone was sluggish from the weed or hyper from the alcohol, tucking into corners and sprawling out across surfaces, clumsy, elbows and knees knocking. It always felt like a second wave, she thought -- everyone relaxed enough to enjoy themselves without the stilted small talk with people they didn’t really know, without the self-consciousness of stepping into a room at the start of the night and feeling eyes land on them. It was like everyone collectively breathing a sigh of relief, tension seeping away, having fun.

She noticed Zoë and Yasmina standing by the television, giggling as Zoë tugged on Yasmina’s sleeve. Even in the dim light, it looked like Yasmina was blushing, hiding her grin into the rim of her cup. Noor didn’t think she’d ever seen Yasmina flustered before. She heard Zoë utter an excited “Tell me!” as Yasmina shook her head, and Noor’s interest piqued. She was still looking at the girls when a familiar head of blonde hair caught her eye. 

Britt was sitting on the couch, listening with a look of barely-concealed boredom as her school friends chattered animatedly, telling Britt about something, hands gesturing wildly and voices overlapping. A look of relief flitted briefly across her face when she spotted Noor, tip-toeing goofily towards her friend, and Britt stood to throw her arms around her neck when Noor was within reach. Noor laughed, hand coming up to briefly touch Britt’s shoulder-blade before waggling her fingers in hello towards the girls on the couch. “Thank fuck you’re here,” her friend muttered into her neck, which made Noor snort. Britt pulled back, hands landing firmly on Noor’s slight shoulders, the dark-blue velvet of Noor’s top catching the light and changing colour slightly as Britt’s touch shifted the material. Britt fixed her with a stern look. “You’re late.” 

Noor’s mouth dropped open in indignation, covering Britt’s hands with her own, helmet strap sliding down to the crook of her elbow. Britt just raised her eyebrows, and Noor pouted in response. “In my defence,” Noor said, her shoulders lifting in a shrug that Britt’s grip followed, “you were late too.” Noor’s arms were bent at an angle, the personification of “oops”, with one finger pointed in the air, before her hands settled on Britt’s shoulders. She squeezed slightly, sighing deeply. “Are you okay?”

Britt’s eye-roll told Noor that she understood what she was really asking. “They’re in the kitchen,” she grumbled. “I haven’t spoken to them.” Noor raised her eyebrows, chin tilting down and to the side. “I think they’re avoiding me.” 

“Uh-huh,” Noor said slowly, eyes widening slightly. “And it’s not as if you’re avoiding them at all, either,” she added, sarcasm colouring her words as she shook her head exaggeratedly, smiling to let her friend know that she was only teasing (for the most part). Britt huffed in response, and, to Noor’s delight, stamped her foot. “You know you’re going to have to speak to them eventually,” Noor reasoned quietly. “Maybe you just need to get it over with.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Britt said, rolling her eyes again and pulling Noor into another one-armed hug, crook of her elbow snug against the nape of Noor’s neck. “I need at least one more drink before I even consider doing that, though.” 

Noor laughed, patting Britt’s head. “That’s okay,” she said, before pushing her friend back towards the couch, settling beside her. 

“That still doesn’t mean you’re not late, though!” 

* * *

Noor found the boys about an hour later. She’d left Britt in the living room, promising a swift return from her trip to the bathroom — before immediately being swept up by a passing Moyo in the hallway, Aaron and Amber nowhere to be seen. 

“Noor Bauwens!” Moyo exclaimed. He tapped the back of his hand against the arm of the boy he’d been speaking to in farewell. Noor vaguely recognised him as Zoë’s ex-boyfriend. Moyo’s voice was loud in her ear as he threw his arm across her shoulders. “Where the fuck have you been?” he asked as he steered her through the kitchen. 

“I’ve been around,” Noor replied, snaking her own arm around Moyo’s waist, fingers gripping the material of his sweatshirt. Moyo scoffed. She heard her name being called again, and waved at Jana and Luca as they spilled punch into their cups, unsteady on their feet. “Maybe you just haven’t been looking hard enough.” Moyo made a sound of protest at that, touching his chest as if he had been wounded. “I like your hair,” she added.

Moyo rubbed his free hand self-consciously over his head, fingers trailing over the bleach-blonde fuzz. “Jack Frost re-did his last week,” he explained. Noor grinned at the nick-name. “Robbe helped me,” he added, mumbling. Noor felt something warm spreading through her chest, endeared by his sudden shyness. She could picture it clearly: Robbe bossing Moyo around, plastic gloves on and dye-brush in his hand. Sander, towel around his shoulders, perched on the side of the bathtub, hair slicked back and wet with bleach, laughing as Moyo complained about the burn. Jens, propped against the doorframe, phone in hand, filming.

“I thought Aaron was Sander’s number one fan,” she teased. Moyo jostled her. “I like it,” she said softly.

“Shut up,” Moyo replied, suppressing a pleased smile. He made an exaggerated effort of opening the back door, bowing with a flourish and waving Noor through before him. “M’lady,” he said in a posh voice. 

“Such a gentleman!” Noor replied, adopting the same lofty tone. But she was laughing too, amused by his antics. 

She didn’t really know what to call this thing with Moyo. When they’d first met, he had been her least favourite of Robbe’s friends — too loud, too arrogant, too quick to shit on Robbe for any little thing that he said or did. But now, Noor was starting to admit to herself that she maybe even... _liked_ Moyo? They’d talked, casually, over text, ever since Moyo had messaged her to apologise for asking her about the mural. Inane chit-chat, mostly instigated by Moyo, that Noor had pretended to find less endearing than she actually did, and couldn’t help but reply to. And they’d talked even more since the Christmas party, when they’d danced together and drank together and Noor had been amused by the confused look on his face whenever she said something clever, out-smarting him with a quick response or an ironic jibe. 

(Britt had looked mildly horrified when she’d seen Moyo’s name pop up on Noor’s phone one afternoon as they had coffee. Noor had just shrugged lightly, like it was no big deal. “We’re just talking,” she’d defended. Britt had raised her eyebrows, made some comment about Noor working her way through the group, teasing. Noor had kicked her under the table.) 

Nothing had actually happened between them, though. 

Yet. 

People were scattered around the garden, backlit by the light streaming from the house and breaths fogging the air. The tips of cigarettes glowed sporadically, orange heat and scattered ash, winking like fireflies in the dimness. A group were huddled around a fancy chiminea -- Jana’s mum clearly took a lot of pride in her home decor -- some standing while others hunkered down on garden furniture and teetered precariously in camping chairs. She saw Jens’ tall frame, face bathed in orange light, hood pulled up against the cold and joint between his gloved fingers. He looked serious, dark eyebrows drawn tight as he spoke, and she heard Robbe stifle a giggle as he accepted the joint from his best friend, taking a slow drag. He snuggled back further into Sander’s chest as he exhaled, smoke billowing upwards in a steady stream as he pulled his boyfriend’s jacket tighter around both of them. The blonde boy tilted his head back against the deck-chair as he let out a groan of exasperation. “I’m telling you,” Jens insisted at Sander’s reaction “a shot-gun is the best strategy!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Noor heard Sander say, voice raising over the chatter as he half-yelled to the sky, the _saaaaake_ drawn out, long and low. “No, it’s not!” Robbe’s laugh was bright and sharp, like a firecracker, and he twisted to press a kiss against Sander’s jaw, placating. Sander’s expression softened, a sweet smile spreading across his face as he lifted a hand to touch his index finger briefly to the spot between Robbe’s collarbones. Jens opened his mouth, ready to further his case, but Moyo interrupted him, pushing Noor in front of him with his hands on both of her shoulders.

“Look who I found!” he sing-songed.

“Noor!” Jens and Robbe chorused, Sander’s _about fucking time!_ drowned out slightly by the other boys. Noor laughed, hugging Jens quickly before settling at the end of the deck-chair once Robbe had shifted his legs to make room for her. She held her hand out, fingers wiggling, for the joint, and Robbe stretched slightly to pass it to her. Moyo moved to stand next to Jens, patting Jens’ shoulder as the boy muttered something about zombies. 

“And where have you been, exactly?” Sander asked, his chin resting on Robbe’s shoulder, their temples pressed together. His hair was almost orange in the light of the embers, tangling warmly with Robbe’s brown curls, tousled as ever. Robbe made a questioning noise, echoing his boyfriend’s question, his eyes narrowing in accusation. His grin was lazy and his movements slow, evidently buzzed from the weed and the beer. Sander’s eyes were clear but teasing, flicking to Moyo before turning back to Noor, eyebrow raised in accusation. 

“Nowhere!” Noor said, voice tight as she held the smoke in her lungs. “I just got here!” (Not technically true: she’d been here for at least forty-five minutes, but she didn’t want to encourage Sander’s imagination.) “I was in the living room!” she added, defensive, when the boys continued to stare. They both blinked when she blew smoke in their direction. Robbe made an unimpressed sound, as if he was offended that Noor hadn’t instantly found them to say hello -- or because he didn’t believe her, assuming she actually had been with Moyo. Sander brushed his lips against Robbe’s forehead, appeasing, amused. Robbe’s eyes fell shut, pushing into his boyfriend’s touch. Noor knew they were only having fun; they weren’t actually annoyed, and they obviously supported whatever was going on between her and Moyo.

She wondered briefly if Moyo had said anything to either of them. Knowing the Broerrrs, he probably had.

Sander nudged Noor softly with the foot he had resting on the chair, wolffish as he pulled her attention away from Moyo. Her gaze had shifted to the other boy absentmindedly. She pushed at Sander’s ankle in response, caught, and the pair scuffled, exchanging shoves until Robbe complained about being jostled. She felt Moyo’s gaze, warm on the side of her face, and she bit her lip as she stared boldly back, ignoring Sander when he shoved her again. Jens, noticing the exchange, clasped Moyo’s chin between his gloved fingers, turning his friend’s eyes back to him with an exasperated sigh. Noor settled back on her hands, half-focused on Moyo and Jens, half-focused on Robbe and Sander, content to listen, chiming in occasionally.

(Less than six months ago, Noor didn’t know any of these boys. Now, she was terribly fond of all of them.) 

She’d completely forgotten about her trip to the bathroom or her promise to return. The joint, passed back and forth, had burned down to a stub by the time the backdoor opened again, the harsh lights of the kitchen illuminating the garden. Noor knew it was Britt before she even turned her head, feeling Sander and Robbe tense beside her. She noticed the determined way in which Moyo and Jens continued their conversation, deliberately casual -- the way Jens shifted slightly closer to the boys, protective, ready to intervene if he had to. She could feel Moyo’s eyes on her again. 

Robbe’s grip on Sander’s wrist -- loosely curled around the bone as Sander’s hand rested on Robbe’s collarbone -- tightened as Britt made her way over to them. Sander turned his head, lips pressing to Robbe’s ear, whispering something that Noor couldn’t hear, but Robbe’s eyes didn’t shift from Britt, cautious, like a spring coiled tight. Noor watched Britt watch them, sympathy panging in her chest as her friend schooled her expression -- the careful way Britt looked at Sander, the way her gaze flitted quickly over the couple, zeroing in on all of the boys’ different points of contact. A look of betrayal flashed briefly across Britt’s face when she noticed Noor’s hand on Sander’s ankle, where it rested after Noor’s half-hearted attempt to stop his pestering. Noor deliberately didn’t move her hand away: she wasn’t going to pick sides.

“Hi,” Britt said, voice uncharacteristically quiet -- awkward. Noor hardly ever saw her like this. Sander and Robbe greeted her in kind, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. “I-um,” Britt turned sharply to Noor, “I was looking for you.” 

Noor took that as her cue, accepting that no more progress was going to be made tonight. “You found me!” she said, cringing slightly at the overly chirpy way she spoke. She patted Sander’s ankle once, smiling at the two boys in an apology as she stood. They both shrugged slightly in a way that clearly said _it is what it is_ , sad but accepting, wary but kind. Noor knew that they understood: it was complicated. Just because Noor was their friend didn’t mean that she wasn’t Britt’s, still -- and Noor knew that neither boy would want her to actually give up her friendship for them. She had a sneaking suspicion that they even felt guilty, seeing it as Noor getting caught in the middle. And maybe there was an element of truth to it, but Noor wasn’t willing to lose any of them in the fall out: she loved them all. She stooped to press a kiss to both their cheeks, Sander and then Robbe, as Britt waited for her, eyes cast back towards the house. Both boys squeezed her arm at the same time as she pulled away -- always in sync. “Come and find me before you leave,” Noor said. “I want to say bye.” They nodded, and Noor heard the sigh Robbe let out as she turned away. 

Jens tapped two fingers to his temple in a mock salute as a goodbye with a resigned smile, his hand landing on Sander’s shoulder as he dropped his arm. Moyo looked at her, gaze steady, and she smiled to let him know that she was okay. _I’ll talk to you later._

Noor linked her arm through Britt’s as she turned them back towards the house. “Well,” Britt muttered, as they stepped back into the kitchen, “that wasn’t horribly awkward.” Noor snorted, rubbing her friend’s arm bracingly, offering comfort. 

“It was always going to be horribly awkward, babe,” she replied. “But,” she squeezed Britt’s hand, “thanks for trying.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> I suffered the crisis of every bisexual woman in writing this: do I want to be Noor or do I want to date her? (I just love her a lot. She's the best Emma.) 
> 
> I'm not in love with the ending of this one. Dialogue isn't my strong suit -- but I wanted to capture just how awkward the situation must be for them. Even if they're all moving on, it's still really bloody uncomfortable. But let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, yes, I made Moyo blonde. Because have you seen Noa's insta? And yes, Moyo and Noor.


	4. Sander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sander took comfort in the fact that he had Robbe in at least one universe -- if not more. Maybe all of them. 

Sander was used to people looking at him -- to the feeling of foreign eyes tracing over his face, scanning the length of his body. It had only gotten worse once he had bleached his hair just after he turned sixteen, the silvery halo combining with a growth spurt to create a beacon of attention. Initially, he had taken pleasure in it, reveled in the stares he attracted as he walked down the street, in school hallways, at parties and bars — it had made him feel powerful, special, desired. Later, mostly after he’d been diagnosed, it sometimes felt like a curse: like a sign hovering above his head, saying _look at me look at me_ when all he wanted to do was hide away, unseen, slipping into the shadows. 

As he moved through Jana’s house, Jens at his side and Robbe at his back, Moyo and Aaron trailing behind, he found that he didn’t care either way.

The house was already pretty busy by the time the boys got there, some random girl that he’d never seen before greeting them at the open front door as they made their way inside. The music was loud, something that Sander himself wouldn’t usually listen to, but he felt the beat settle in his bones as it reverberated through the polished floorboards. A multi-coloured disco ball turned sporadically where it was perched on top of a side table in the hallway, throwing strobes of different light across the corridor. Sander could see the way it turned his and Moyo’s hair from red to green to blue, reflected in a mirror hung near the door. 

Sander followed Jens as he moved towards the living room, falling into step with his friend and using their height to make a path through the bodies in the hall. He felt Robbe’s grip on the back of his jacket, keeping him close, and he reached his hand back briefly to touch his fingers to Robbe’s wrist, brushing against his pulse point — anchoring each other. 

Sander recognised the familiar sensation of eyes settling on his skin as they crossed into the living room. He recognised a few people as he looked around, noting without much feeling that two of Britt’s posse were perched on the couch, looking at him, before he continued to scan the room in search of their friends. He bit back a smile, heart stuttering, as he felt Robbe’s arm snake around his waist under his jacket, the younger boy’s thumb pressing possessively into the cut of Sander’s hipbone as they stopped near the room’s centre. His own arm curved easily over Robbe’s shoulders, familiar, reassuring, tucking his boyfriend into his side as he brushed a placating kiss against Robbe’s hairline — as if Robbe had anything to be worried about in the first place. He obliged when his boyfriend tilted his face back for more, head resting against Sander’s shoulder and demanding a kiss. Sander knew without looking that Jens was rolling his eyes —amused, fond — and he elbowed his friend lightly as he pressed his lips to Robbe’s, teasing. Jens made a disgruntled sound, affronted, and elbowed him back in retaliation. Sander squirmed away from the sudden pressure in between his ribs, torso swivelling to press against Robbe’s. 

“Jens,” Robbe said, scolding, and Sander laughed at the offended look on his friend’s face as Jens looked at his best friend, the way his mouth dropped open as he pointed at Sander in accusation. 

“He started it!” Jens complained, whining, and Sander laughed at his tone, happiness spreading through his chest at their easy camaraderie. Robbe shifted in Sander’s embrace, swapping the arm he had wrapped around Sander’s waist to keep him close against his chest as he leaned up to cuff Jens across the back of the head, giggling. Jens made another noise, the hair at the back of his head sticking up, and muttered something about Robbe being mean ever since he got a boyfriend -- but Sander had stopped paying attention, distracted, eyes caught on the curve of Robbe’s jaw and the way his tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip. Robbe’s eyes cut to him, feeling the weight of Sander’s stare, and his grin was dirty when his gaze dropped to Sander’s mouth. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jens said, exasperated. “We literally just got here.” Sander let out a snort of laughter, placing a kiss to the bolt of Robbe’s jaw, deliberately trying to wind his friend up. Robbe made a smug, pleased sound, eyebrows lifting cheekily as he looked at Jens in a way that clearly said _ha ha_ , arm hooking around Sander’s neck to keep his boyfriend close. Jens huffed, and turned to Moyo, holding his hand out expectantly for a beer. Moyo, who had been half-watching the entire exchange with amusement (Sander knew that he was also looking for Noor, but he’d tease him about that later), simply pressed a bottle into Jens’ palm, patting his friend on the shoulder in a way that was evidently less sincere than it was supposed to be. 

Sander knew that Jens didn’t actually care, that he was only having fun; Jens would be the first into battle for either of them. But it was new to Sander, in a way. It wasn’t that he was a loner, exactly; he had been part of a large friend group when he was at school, and he still kept in touch with most of them — but everyone had gone their separate ways for university and so on, chasing dreams that led them to different cities and different time-zones. And he had friends at The Academy — classmates, really — but he’d only been there since the start of the school year, and he’d still been with Britt when the term had started, which had limited the time (and freedom) he had had for socialising. Things were getting better, now that he had settled into his course and his relationship with Robbe. And it wasn’t like they were incapable of having separate friends — they did — but Sander got on so well with Robbe’s friends, the boys and the girls, that he’d just sort of become another member of the group, seamlessly fitting in in a way that made Sander forget he’d only known most of them for less than six months. They were his friends too now— he even had his self-appointed Number One Fan in Aaron.

Speaking of Sander’s fan-boy: “I’m going to do it,” Aaron said, standing next to Moyo, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Tonight is the night!” He jabbed both of his index fingers in the air, in front of Jens’ and Moyo’s faces, to emphasise his point. The rest of the Broerrrs let out a collective groan, eyes screwing shut and heads shaking. Robbe pressed his face to Sander’s neck, exasperated. 

“What’s tonight?” Sander asked, clearly missing something that had been discussed without him -- probably at school. Robbe made a pained noise, muffled against Sander’s skin, and lifted his hand to press his palm over Sander’s mouth. 

“Please don’t ask that question,” Robbe whined as Aaron answered: “I’m going to tell Amber I love her.”

 _Oh_ , Sander thought. He already knew about that — he’d known about that for weeks now. He didn’t really see the big deal, personally, but it at least made more sense of the vodka shots Aaron had downed in quick succession during pres at Moyo’s, moving from foot to foot and psyching himself up like a boxer before a fight. 

The Broerrrs clearly disagreed, another chorus of protests ringing out when Aaron spoke. The boy looked insulted by the reaction, genuinely bewildered, and demanded, “Why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s too soon!” Jens insisted, the hand holding his beer bottle making a cutting motion through the air. (Sander didn’t know about that: by nature, Belgians didn’t tend to do relationships by halves.)

“You haven’t even had sex yet!” Moyo added, reasoning. Sander failed at stopping the grimace that crossed his face; it wasn’t that he was disgusted by the idea of Aaron or Amber having sex, just— _Aaron and Amber having sex_. Moyo had spoken louder than Aaron probably would have liked, but Moyo at least had the decency to look guilty when two girls they didn’t know stopped dancing and turned to look at them. Aaron, cheeks flushing, waved awkwardly before twisting sharply to glare at Moyo. Jens shot the two girls an angelic smile before turning back to Aaron, hands held out towards Moyo to show that he agreed with his friend’s point. 

Aaron pointed at Sander and Robbe, who had yet to chime in for obvious reasons. Obvious reasons that Aaron then aired to the entire group when he said: “They hadn’t had sex when they said it either!” 

“True,” Sander said, uncaring, with a tilt of his head— Jens and Moyo making another round of vehement protests, saying that that was different: that was _Robbe and Sander_.

Robbe, on the other hand, demanded with a shrill voice: “How do you know that?!”

 _Uh oh._

“Sander told me!” Aaron said, waving at Sander, who had stilled under the accusing gaze that his boyfriend had turned on him. Jens didn’t looked surprised (he already knew a lot of the details about the early stages of their relationship), and Moyo just accepted it with a shrug. His point still stood: it was _Robbe and Sander_.

“He asked for my advice!” Sander said, eyes turned pleadingly to Robbe, shoulders rising in a shrug that said _what else was I supposed to do?_

“Oh, my God,” Robbe muttered, slumping forward to hide his face in Sander’s neck again. “He’s already obsessed with us — please don’t give him anymore ammunition.” Sander bit back a laugh, a brief snort of amusement escaping him. He brought his hand up to play with the strands of hair at the back of Robbe’s neck, stroking the skin apologetically. He tucked two fingers briefly under Robbe’s chain, hidden under the neckline of his t-shirt — Sander’s t-shirt, he registered with a smug feeling in his chest — as he murmured a quiet _sorry_ into Robbe’s ear, smile pressed against his skin. Robbe tilted his head, forehead pressed to the centre of Sander’s collarbones, and they both watched their three friends as Jens and Moyo continued to make their case, Aaron steadfastly ignoring them with a determined shake of his head. 

“Wait!” Robbe’s head whipped up suddenly from its place tucked under Sander’s chin, almost braining Sander in the process. Robbe had a desperate look in his eyes when he looked at his boyfriend. “He asked you for sex tips too, didn’t he.” 

It wasn’t a question.

The look on Sander’s face was all Robbe needed in an answer. Sander watched as the boy tilted his head back, eyes screwing shut as he imitated crying, before he groaned, “Sander!” Jens and Moyo cackled.

Sander was already passing his boyfriend a beer in apology by the time Robbe opened his eyes.

* * *

They were a man down by the time the boys moved from the living room to the kitchen, losing Aaron to Amber in a frankly disgusting display of public affection against the wall of Jana’s hallway. 

Moyo let out a whoop as they entered the room, instantly drawing attention as he made a beeline for the make-shift punchbowl. Sander watched as Zoë dropped whatever she was doing before rushing over to pull him and Robbe into a hug. Well -- she pulled Sander into a hug, but Sander’s arm had been draped in its usual position over his boyfriend’s shoulders, and Robbe kind of just got dragged into it as well. (Zoë saw Robbe at school _all the time_ — but she didn’t get to see Sander as often now that Robbe had moved out of the flat-share.)

“How are you?” Zoë asked Sander as she pulled away, her dark eyes kind and her lipstick a deep berry-shade of red. The last time they had seen each other — almost two weeks ago — Sander had just been coming out of a mild depressive episode, tired and stressed from an assignment. Zoë had invited him for a coffee, saying that she wanted his help in finding a present for Milan, claiming she needed his artistic eye. (When Sander had asked Robbe, teasing but also nervous about Robbe arranging another babysitter for him, Robbe had been confused, had had no idea what Sander was talking about. Sander had watched as Robbe typed out an indignant message to Zoë, trying in vain to hide the grin on his face from his boyfriend as Robbe demanded why he had not been consulted instead. Zoë’s instant response had made Sander laugh out loud: _Sweetie, you only wear two outfits_.)

“I’m good,” Sander replied honestly, leaning into the kiss Robbe pressed to his cheek before his boyfriend moved away to find them another drink. “How are you doing?”

Zoë offered him a small smile, not quite reaching her eyes, and she shrugged daintily, shoulders slight under the clingy material of her top. “I’m okay,” she replied. She lifted her chin in the direction of the doorway. “Senne’s here.” Sander hadn’t seen him yet. “He’s here with Luka,” she tacked on, forgetting that Sander didn’t really know who Luka was, that Sander had only really been around for a few months. 

(They hadn’t known each other well that Tuesday morning Robbe had left Sander sleeping in his bed. But Zoë had made him a cup of mint tea when he had wandered into the kitchen at around eleven, his eyes still crusted with sleep and his movements slow. She hadn’t asked questions, for which he had been grateful, and he hadn’t either, noticing the sheen in her eyes and the way her lashes were slightly clumped together, the soft glow on her skin that only appeared after someone had been crying, skin fresh and tired at the same time. They had sat in companionable silence as the steam travelled upwards from the mugs clasped in their hands, socked feet tucked up under them on the chairs around the flat-share’s tiny kitchen table. Robbe had filled him in when Sander had asked quietly after he got home from school, telling him about the break-up, about Senne moving out; about the comfort he had offered Zoë so easily that morning as she cried in the kitchen despite the fact that that was all Robbe had been doing for Sander since he had found him the previous day. Robbe had secretly confessed that he thought Zoë was making a mistake, and Sander was inclined to agree once Zoë had told him more about it herself over the course of the last two months -- but Zoë was adamant. It wasn’t the same, things had changed -- she’d changed.)

The way Zoë’s gaze lingered over his shoulder on the doorway for a few seconds, watching, waiting, told Sander that Zoë wasn’t as certain about her decision as she made herself out to be. Sander stared at her, expectant, when her eyes turned back to him. “I just miss him,” she admitted quietly. Sander wrapped her in another hug, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead, whispering a quiet _I know_. He pulled back as Jana tumbled into the kitchen, stepping away as she instantly latched onto Zoë, twirling the girl in the middle of the kitchen. Zoë’s laugh was light, like bells, as she spun, arms falling easily around Jana’s waist. She looked at Sander over her friend’s shoulder, mouthing a silent _thank you_. 

Robbe appeared again, chin hooking over Sander’s shoulder as Jana tripped from Zoë to Jens, hands cupping their friend’s face and squishing his cheeks together, pushing his lips to form a pout. Her name was muffled when Jens spoke, reaching up to clasp Jana’s wrists to pull her hands away. They dropped instead to his neck, staying there as Jana laughed, delighted. Jens’ smile was soft as he looked down at her, lovesick and warm. “Here we go again,” Robbe said quietly, his eyes trained on them as he draped his arm over Sander’s other shoulder, the bottle of beer landing with a dull tap against Sander’s chest as it dangled from Robbe’s fingers, an offering. Sander made a noise of agreement as he took the drink, taking a sip before passing it back to Robbe. 

“What do you think he’s waiting for?” Sander asked. He felt Robbe shrug, chin digging into muscle as he made a quiet sound of contemplation. 

“I dunno,” Robbe mused. “I guess…” his voice trailed off, clearly trying to think of the best way to phrase it. “It hurt him so much when it ended last time." He paused. "Maybe he just doesn’t want to risk feeling like that again.” Sander made a small sound in agreement, his gaze shifting involuntarily to look at Zoë, where their friend was now dancing with Yasmina and Luca across the room. Sander, maybe more than anyone, understood that feeling.

He let out a short huff of breath, turning on his heel and stepping back to lean against the kitchen counter, fingers tangled in the material of Robbe’s shirt. Robbe’s smile was slow as he let himself be pulled forward. Sander slumped down against the worktop, edge digging into the small of his back, Robbe stepping between Sander’s spread legs. Robbe pressed in close, Doc Martens bracketing Vans, wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck as Sander spoke, “I just want him to be happy,” Sander said. 

“I know,” Robbe replied. “I do too.” He pecked Sander quickly on the lips, grinning. “You’re very sweet,” he added. 

“Shut up,” Sander replied, amusement colouring his tone as he pulled Robbe in again. Robbe laughed quietly against his mouth, making a happy sound in the back of his throat as they kissed.

* * *

They had been sitting outside for a while, drifting from the kitchen to the garden when Jens had plucked the joint from behind his ear, lifting it above his head with a raise of his eyebrows. The blunt had long burnt down to the filter, passed from person to person as they huddled around the chiminea, and Sander was warm as he leant back against the lounger, Robbe a solid weight against his chest. He had his chin resting on the crown of Robbe’s head, looking up to his friends as he listened to Jens and Moyo’s conversation. He shook his head no when Robbe held another joint up in front of his face, produced from somewhere on Moyo’s person, as Noor passed it back after taking a drag, murmuring a quiet “thank you, baby,” as he took it and passed it to Jens instead. He almost always said no now that Robbe knew about his diagnosis, but he appreciated that Robbe still offered all the same, giving Sander the freedom to make his own decisions. Sander could feel the rumble of Robbe’s chest as he talked, the way his sternum jumped when he laughed at something Noor said. Sander noticed the back door open out of the corner of his eye, the sudden brightness making him blink and the volume of the music inside spilling out into the garden for a second, loud and distorted. He didn’t have to look to know who it is. He knew as soon as he watched Jens shift closer to him, his friend taking a half-step back towards the deck-chair, his slim body turning at a slight angle as if to hide Sander from view -- a guard-dog. The brunette was still talking to Moyo, faux-casual, but Sander could tell Jens’ gaze was fixed on the approaching figure, and he saw the way Moyo’s brow furrowed slightly at Jens’ sudden change in demeanour, turning to look over his shoulder to see what caused the reaction. Moyo’s gaze flicked briefly to Noor, then to Robbe, before landing on Sander as he nodded absentmindedly at whatever Jens was saying. Sander stared back, silently letting his friend know that he knew -- that he was okay. 

Robbe’s grip tightened on his wrist as Britt picked her way across the garden towards Noor -- towards them -- and it was only then that Sander turned his head, braced. It was the first time he had seen Britt in over two months, since the day before he left the institution, coddled and claustrophobic. She looked -- smaller, somehow. He couldn’t really remember what he said to her, back then, his memory a blur of sterile walls and unfamiliar sheets, graphite and coal staining his fingertips, leaving smudges, tarnishing whatever he touched. Trying to escape his thoughts by putting them down on paper. He could remember Britt’s voice, snapping at him when he wouldn’t respond; how it had started off soft and gentle, before slipping quickly to a wheedling whine -- saccharine sweet -- then exasperated and harsh. His name sharp like a whip on her tongue, leaving scars. He remembered the look in her eyes; the worry and fear when she’d appeared at his side -- uninvited, unwanted -- while he sat wrapped in foil and shivering, his bare feet stretched out in front of him on a gurney, the pulsing light of the ambulance changing her pale hair from blonde to blue and back again as the light turned in a continuous rhythm. The anger and betrayal as she’d climbed into the ambulance next to his mother, after she’d disappeared from his side and he’d heard Robbe’s voice echo across the cobbles, a figment of his desperate imagination. The denial when Sander told her to leave, that he didn’t want her there. The realisation when she saw the drawings -- so many drawings -- hidden in a notebook that he’d left forgotten on a desk in his hospital room. She had known, then, that he didn’t want her there -- who he wanted there instead -- but she had stayed, stubborn, determined, and Sander had been too tired to force her to go. He’d taken to simply ignoring her, blocking her out, pretending she didn’t exist. He had thought of Robbe instead, of the last time Sander had seen him; how Robbe had gone from surprised and sweet, shy as Sander had taken his hand and led him up the stairs of the hotel, to giddy, euphoric, beautiful under the spray of the shower and spread out across golden sheets. The quiet way Robbe had held him after, offering comfort without knowing the reason why, as Sander curled against his chest with the golden chain tangled around Sander’s fingers, his guardian angels. The perplexed look in Robbe’s eyes, the confused twist of his smile, as Sander had loomed over him when he talked about their wedding: _take it or leave it._

His boyfriend was tense as he leant against Sander’s chest, shoulders taut and his jaw set. Robbe was so small, usually, always curling up in Sander’s embrace, in Sander’s jacket, but in that moment, he seemed big -- a barrier, a shield. Sander leant down, lips trailing against the cold shell of Robbe’s ear, his arms pulling Robbe closer against his chest, and he whispered, “It’s alright, I’m okay.” Then: “I love you.” A butterfly kiss pressed to fragile skin. Robbe’s gaze didn’t move from where it was trained on Britt, but he squeezed Sander’s wrist briefly before his hold lessened slightly, fingers a loose cage around the bone, possessive: _mine_. Sander returned Britt’s stare when she finally looked at him -- swiftly -- before her eyes flitted away, scanning over him and Robbe and all the ways they were intertwined. Her gaze dropped to Noor’s hand on his ankle, and Sander recognised the careful way she tried to keep her face neutral, the muscle that jumped ever so slightly in her jaw. 

Noor’s touch burned like a brand — but his friend didn’t lift her hand. 

Sander felt more than heard Robbe return Britt’s hello, and his own greeting was quiet as he mimicked his boyfriend. It was the first time he had heard her voice since she’d left him that voicemail -- when he’d listened to hers and Robbe’s in quick succession that Sunday afternoon. He had deleted Britt’s instantly, without much guilt, her pleas unanswered. But he couldn’t bring himself to do the same to Robbe’s, the boy’s words shaky and desperate, echoing in his ears. He had savoured the way his name sounded on Robbe’s tongue (so different to the way Britt had spoken), determination colouring his tone. _There is something between us. I love you_. Sander had played it again that Monday, hunched over that desk in The Academy and surrounded by drawings of Robbe -- of Robbe’s eyes and his hair and his smile, of the two of them together. _There is something between us. I love you_. He’d typed out a message to Robbe, using the boy’s own words in an attempt to make him understand, to let Robbe know that he was doing it to protect him -- to say goodbye. Robbe had turned up less than an hour later, eyes shining, doe-like and deep, and out of breath, hair messy as it poked out from under his beanie. He had pushed back when Sander tried to force him away; instead, he had crouched down next to the desk, lips pressed to Sander’s knuckles as he coaxed Sander to look at him. Told Sander, hands braced against the desk that Sander had to lean on for support, that, in this universe -- at least -- Robbe was staying. (When Robbe had gotten out of bed the next morning, brushing a careful kiss to the curve of Sander’s cheekbone in an attempt not to wake him, Sander couldn’t help but ask: _Are you leaving me behind?_ Robbe had paused, shoulder-blades sharp and back strong, contoured by shadows and soft morning light -- beautiful, breath-taking -- and told him the same thing: in this universe, he was staying.) 

Sander took comfort in the fact that he had Robbe in at least one universe -- if not more. Maybe all of them. 

He pressed the side of his face against the smaller boy’s, from his temple to the hinge of his jaw, feeling Robbe’s hair tickle his forehead. Robbe pushed into the contact, making a small sound at the back of his throat, and Sander was unsure if Robbe was seeking comfort or trying to provide it. Sander guessed it was a bit of both. He offered Noor a small smile when she stood, conflicted look on her face and an apology on the tip of her tongue. Sander felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. It was such a tangled web that they had woven, him and Robbe and Britt and Noor -- and all of the relationships that existed between them. Noor was Robbe’s ex, and Britt’s best friend, and Sander was Robbe’s boyfriend and Britt’s ex both. But Noor and Sander had been friends regardless -- they’d known each other before they’d known either Robbe or Britt: at the same school, interested in similar things, tangentially linked by social circles and art. But Noor was also the reason he had met Britt in the first place, and maybe even the person that had led him to Robbe. She was the person that had been with the boy he loved, and the girl Robbe had cheated on that night at the pool. The girl that, despite it all, had taken the time to pick out a Christmas present that Sander loved, had returned the genuine kiss he’d pressed to her cheek. Somehow, in the fallout, Noor had gotten caught in the middle, and Sander’s heart broke for her when he saw the way she tried to juggle it all -- tried to keep everyone happy. He returned the kiss she pressed to his cheek as she said her goodbyes, squeezing her arm briefly -- felt Robbe do the same. 

“Come and find me before you leave,” Noor said, voice firm, no room for arguments. "I want to say bye.” Sander and Robbe both nodded, and Robbe let out a sigh as Noor turned away, deflating back against Sander’s chest. Sander watched as Moyo’s stare followed Noor (vaguely noting that he needed to interrogate his friend more about what was going on), before his gaze shifted back to Britt as Noor moved to link her arm with her friend’s. Britt wasn’t looking at him, head turned back towards the house, her profile backlit by the light coming from the kitchen and the side of her face washed warmly in orange from the fire -- and Sander struggled to remember what it was about Britt that had attracted him to her initially. He knew, conventionally, that she was a pretty girl. He was an artist: he could appreciate beauty for beauty’s sake. There was so much history there, between them, but it was like looking at a stranger. He didn’t feel anything as he watched her standing there; no hint of that spark, that intrigue, he had felt when they first met -- when it had still been new, before it had all gone to shit. For so long, it had felt like Britt was as good as he was going to get, that she was all that he was owed in this universe. Sander thought, fleetingly, of that quote he had seen repeated by so many people so many times before: “We accept the love we think we deserve.” It wasn’t that Sander thought that Britt did the best she could when they were together -- she didn’t; she could be controlling and demeaning and cruel. But he hadn’t been perfect either -- anything but -- and Britt had stuck by him all the same, in love, even when he didn’t want her to, helping him pick up the pieces after things had inevitably broken. 

Sander didn’t think that way anymore -- didn’t feel like everything he touched was damaged, shattering at the press of his fingertips. Not when Robbe sat, skin like porcelain and knock-kneed, between Sander’s legs, held in his arms. Because Sander had touched Robbe, so many times in so many ways, and Robbe was still there, beautiful and whole. And Sander knew that even though Robbe looked fragile, he wasn’t; Robbe was strong -- for himself and for Sander. (He was strong enough to hold Sander up when he had collapsed in his arms that Monday morning, sobs wracking his body, making his ribs tight. His arms had wrapped around Robbe like a vice as his knees crumpled, Robbe’s grip like iron, like steel as they sank to the floor.)

Sander was pulled from his thoughts when Jens’ hand landed, heavy and warm, on his shoulder and he asked, “You okay, man?” 

Sander’s chin mussed Robbe’s hair as he tilted his head back, resting atop of the crown of the brunette’s head again as he looked at his friend. “I’m good,” he replied, offering Jens a small smile to let him know he was telling the truth. Jens’ nodded once, dark eyebrows lifting as he sucked his teeth in a non-verbal _jeez_. He looked pointedly at Robbe where he sat tucked under Sander’s chin. He hadn’t said anything since Noor and Britt had gone back inside, the quiet echo of Noor’s laughter dancing across the grass, but Robbe’s gaze remained trained on the door. Sander dipped forward to press his lips against Robbe’s ear again. “Baby,” he murmured. He touched two fingers to Robbe’s jaw, lingering, as he turned the younger boy’s face back to look at him. “Robbe.” It was only at hearing his name that Robbe’s gaze shifted from the door, and Sander felt his breath catch as Robbe met his stare. Maybe it was just the reflection from the fire, but Robbe’s eyes were bright, fierce. 

“I’m okay,” Robbe whispered. The hand that had been wrapped around Sander’s wrist lifted to cup the back of his neck instead, Robbe’s fingers curling into the white strands at his nape. It made his shoulder-blade dig into Sander’s chest slightly, but he didn’t move Robbe, just shuffled slightly against the chair, sliding lower, to make them more comfortable. Sander’s fingers on Robbe’s jaw travelled upwards, pressing to the hidden skin behind Robbe’s ear as his entire palm cupped against the cut of Robbe’s jaw. They were still surrounded by people, Jens and Moyo talking at their side and other party-goers scattered across the garden, but, for them, it went quiet. Robbe gulped, eyes slipping closed as he touched their foreheads together, sighing through his nose (and Sander was reminded so vividly of that Friday night in the entrance hall of Robbe’s building, when Robbe had done the same thing, tired and confused and aching. The way his breath had shuddered across Sander’s bottom lip when they kissed again for the first time in over a week; the quiet whimper as he’d pushed weakly against Sander’s chest, away, but also keeping him close, fingers caught in the dark material of Sander’s t-shirt. The heat that had engulfed them in their desperation — their delight — to be together again). “I just—” Robbe started quietly, eyes blinking open to look into Sander’s. “I hate the way she treated you.” 

Sander sighed, his thumb brushing over the curve of Robbe’s cheekbone, the tender skin under his eye. And, _God_ , Sander just loved this boy so much. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he murmured, their foreheads still touching. “It’s just you and me.” 

Robbe nodded, and when he opened his eyes, his stare was heavy (like it had been in the lobby), hazy in a way that told Sander it was more than just the weed the smaller boy had smoked earlier. “Minute by minute,” Robbe whispered. 

“Minute by minute,” Sander replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to so much Bowie while writing this.
> 
> Right, lads, here's the deal: I have to go back to The Netherlands for uni tomorrow, and I have two essays due at the end of the month, so I probably won't be updating as regularly as I have been for the past week. I'm hoping to still write most days -- purely for a break from writing about other things, haha -- but I don't know how soon I will be able to post anything. 
> 
> I do, however, have a Tumblr: wasteourdays. I don't post that much on it. If you do happen to have any questions or just want to discuss anything about the fic -- maybe a fun headcanon or something -- you can totally drop me a message there instead. 
> 
> And thank you again for all your lovely comments!


	5. Yasmina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasmina didn’t know how to explain that it was just different for her, even when her friends tried their hardest to prove that that didn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back! 
> 
> I was fooling myself when I hoped that I would be able to keep writing everyday. Which I was, just unfortunately not this fic. Basically, this semester kicked my arse, but it's winding down again, which obviously means more time for writing things I actually enjoy. 
> 
> I just wanted to say that as someone who isn't personally religious, I didn't want to touch too much on it while writing Yasmina. It felt insensitive to write about something so personal to an individual that I can't really relate to. I do mention it briefly, but it's why I chose to focus more on her friendships than anything else.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! As always, thank you for your lovely comments.

The music from downstairs was muffled as Yasmina stood at the bathroom sink, lyrics intelligible as the bass vibrated through the house. She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at her phone, a series of messages left unanswered on the screen.

From: Asim (20:12)

_ Where are you? _

From: Asim (20:28)

_ Nm your brother just told me you’re at a party _

From: Asim (20:28)

_ Hope you’re having fun _

From: Asim (20:32)

_ I was looking forward to seeing you _

Yasmina thumbed slowly through the thread of messages, mostly unanswered on her part, with a small furrow between her eyebrows. The last message had been sent over an hour ago. She jumped slightly when she saw the status change from  _ last seen  _ to  _ online _ , quickly locking the phone and shoving it in her pocket. She drew in a slow breath, trying to calm the sudden jangle of nerves in her chest, and braced her hands on either side of the sink, ring clinking against the porcelain as her head dropped to hang between her shoulders. She stilled, releasing the breath through her nose, and her eyes fluttered shut briefly, listening to the din of the party downstairs, a stolen moment of quiet in the noise. She startled again when someone tried to open the door, handle rattling a few times before they knocked loudly. 

“One second!” Yasmina called, lifting her head to look at her reflection in the mirror hung above the sink, her skin washed out in the harsh light of the bathroom. She leant closer to the glass, wiping quickly at the slightly smudged corner of her eyeliner and dabbing at her lipstick, smoothing the material of her hijab down where it had been rumpled by Jana’s tipsy hug as Yasmina had passed her in the hallway on her way up the stairs. She reached the door as the person on the other side started to knock again, a dull thud as their palm slapped against the wood, and Luca fell forward slightly when Yasmina pulled the door open.

Luca blinked. “Oh, Yas, it’s you!” she said, grin stretching across her face. “Here,” she thrust a half-full plastic cup into Yasmina’s hand, “can you hold this?” Yasmina took it wordlessly, twisting her torso as Luca tried to move past her into the bathroom. Luca turned on her heel to shove lightly at Yasmina’s back, directing her out into the hallway. “I’m sorry, Yas, but I really need to pee!” she said when Yasmina said her name in protest, slamming the door shut quickly.

Yasmina stared at the door for a second, holding the cup of punch that was a disconcerting shade of pink. She sniffed it, nose wrinkling at the sweetness of the fruit juice and the sharp whiff of rum. “I’ll just hold this then, Luca!” she called, sarcastic, through the door. “I’ll see you down there,” she added before turning towards the staircase. She held her hand aloft to keep the drink from spilling as she trailed her fingers lightly down the bannister, tightening her grip to keep her balance as she skirted around a couple sitting halfway up. She saw Aaron and Amber pressed together against the wall of the hallway as she reached the the bottom of the stairs, and she shared a look with Britt as the blonde made her way into the kitchen. Yasmina briefly wondered if Sander and Robbe were still in the room, worried for her friends’ reaction to seeing Britt, but she could see as she reached the doorway that the two boys were engrossed in each other, unaware of Britt’s presence. Yasmina settled against the doorframe, shoulder and temple resting against the wood.

She watched as Britt noticed the two boys, the girl hidden behind the crowd of people in the kitchen as everyone else watched Moyo dance, Jens’ shouts of encouragement loud over the music. Britt stilled, a bottle of wine in her grip, frozen with her eyes trained on the boys and hand poised to twist off the cap. Yasmina saw the brief flash of sadness that crossed Britt’s face as Sander pulled Robbe in for a kiss, Robbe murmuring something against the other boy’s lips and wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck, beer bottle dangling from Robbe’s grip. Sander’s fingers tangled in the hair at Robbe’s nape, pulling him closer. Britt only let herself look for a second, and Yasmina watched as she determinedly turned her gaze back to the bottle in her hand as the boys continued to kiss, turning away in search of a glass. The girl settled for a plastic cup before making her way back towards the hall, refusing to look towards the couple as she crossed the kitchen. She met Yasmina’s eyes again as Yasmina hovered by the doorway, and they shared another brief moment of understanding. Yasmina offered Britt a small smile, knowing that she had been caught in her staring. Britt didn’t say anything, stare flicking briefly to the side, guilty, but she returned Yasmina’s smile halfheartedly, lips quirking slightly at the corners, before slipping past her towards the living room.

Luca’s cup was plucked from her hand as she appeared at Yasmina’s shoulder, her friend singing a trilling  _ thank you _ as she spun into the kitchen. Yasmina shook her head, amused, and followed Luca into the room, but she stayed on the periphery, propped against the wall as she watched her friends. Jana was laughing, raucous, with an arm slung around Jens’ neck where he stood filming Moyo. Jana’s other armed waved wildly, spilling some of the drink that she had stolen from Jens over her own hand and onto Jens’ shoes. 

“Jana!” Jens whined, looking away from Moyo, but he was laughing, and Yasmina saw his face as he turned to her, the arm snaked around her waist keeping her close and the gentle way he gazed at her. She saw the significant look Sander and Robbe exchanged as they watched the couple too, attention caught by Jana’s squawk of laughter, twin expressions on their faces. Robbe’s hands rested lightly against Sander’s collarbones, and he shook his head in exasperation at his best friend, looking at Jens with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, a clear  _ are you serious right now? _ Sander shot Yasmina a cheeky grin when he met her gaze across the room, head tilting towards Jens and Jana with a joking roll of his eyes. Yasmina raised an eyebrow, inclining her own head in a nod towards Sander, eyes dropping to where his hands were settled on Robbe’s waist as if to say  _ you’re one to talk _ . Sander grinned and shrugged once, acquiescing, and the smaller boy turned back to him, evidently wanting to know what Sander was doing. Robbe twisted in Sander’s grasp, looking over his shoulder and following Sander’s gaze towards Yasmina, and Robbe narrowed his eyes at her with a smile when he saw her. Yasmina shrugged innocently, and Sander let out a bark of laughter before pressing a kiss to Robbe’s temple. Robbe leant into the touch, turning his gaze away from Yasmina to tilt his face up for another kiss. 

They were adorable.

Yasmina wondered if Asim had messaged her again, and her phone suddenly felt heavy in her pocket. She briefly considered checking, before deciding against it. She didn’t want to give him false hope; it wasn’t like anything was ever really going to happen between them anyway. It was just a crush -- she’d get over it. Asim would probably be leaving again soon; Yasmina knew he missed Morocco after spending the year there, and he’d mentioned wanting to do some more travelling before settling down again for university -- if he decided that he wanted to go at all. She knew Kamal was happy to have him home, missing his best friend, and so were her parents, saying that they missed the calming influence Asim had on her brother. Yasmina was happy too that he was back, but it had been easier to forget about her crush when he had been away, only hearing about him from her brother -- who, she had a sneaking suspicion, seemed to know that there was  _ something _ going on between the two of them, even if he never actually said anything. She had feigned polite disinterest whenever Kamal had mentioned him, because why should it matter to her what her brother’s best friend was doing, but she’d filed away each piece of information, had seen the Instagrams and the Facebook posts, had watched the videos he had sent Kamal. 

Not that it mattered: nothing was going to happen. 

She was pulled from her thoughts when Zoë called her name, the girl once again picking up discarded bottles and cans scattered around the kitchen. The blonde lifted her hands in the air, an exaggerated shrug, and looked around her room, as if exasperated by the mess. But she was smiling, maybe one of the more genuine smiles Yasmina had seen on her friend’s face the entire night, and Yasmina grinned back. She pushed herself off from the wall, walking over to Zoë and taking the rubbish bag from her wordlessly in an offer of help, knowing that Luca or someone else would inevitably tell them to stop. Zoë pressed her cheek to Yasmina’s in an air kiss, saving her dark lipstick and muttering a  _ thanks, Yas _ , before turning to pick up more empty bottles. Zoë prodded at Sander’s side, in her way where he was still leant against the counter with Robbe wrapped in his embrace. Sander yelped, head jerking back from Robbe’s, as the girl’s fingers dug into the sensitive skin of his side, and Yasmina and Robbe laughed at the wounded look the boy shot Zoë. Yasmina grinned wider when Sander deliberately slumped back across the counter again in retaliation, elbows sprawling and legs spread, a dead weight with his head tilted back dramatically. Robbe let out a bright hoot of laughter at his boyfriend’s antics and stepped back as Zoë whined Sander’s name, pressing her side against Sander’s in an attempt to move him, their white-blonde heads close together and bright under the kitchen lights. 

“Don’t be annoying,” Zoë huffed when Sander didn’t move, but she was laughing as she shoved ineffectually at the boy’s side. She shoved harder and Sander tilted precariously, letting out a squawk and taking a heavy step to balance himself. Zoë changed tactics once he had quickly righted himself, instead using Sander as leverage to reach over behind him, rising on her tiptoes with a hand pressed to his shoulder. 

“You miss me!” Sander half-yelled, evidently trying not to laugh as he steadied Zoë with a hand to her waist. She let a triumphant noise when her fingers tilted a beer bottle into her grip. 

“I take it back!” Zoë replied instantly. She settled back on her heels, and waved the empty beer bottle in his face -- Sander blinked -- before placing it in the bag with the rest. She turned back to Sander and rose briefly on her tiptoes again to press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a slight smudge of red on the curve of his cheekbone. “Love you,” she said, wiping it away with her thumb, and Sander laughed.

“Sometimes,” Robbe said to Yasmina, smiling, “I think she only misses living with me because it means she doesn’t see him as much.” His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, and he tilted his body to the side as he spoke, like it was a secret. He wasn’t looking at Yasmina, gaze trained on his boyfriend and Zoë as Sander continued to tease her. 

“It’s nice to see her smile again,” Yasmina said, also watching them.

Robbe hummed. “Yeah,” he said. “Both of them.” 

Yasmina didn’t know much about Sander’s illness. Only what Robbe had told her in passing and what she’d learnt from Google in an attempt to help her friend, concerned by the dark shadows under his eyes and the defeated slump to his shoulders that she’d noticed at school. Jana had spoken about it, and Amber, but that had been when everything was still going on between the boys, and their information had been coming from Britt, so Yasmina had known to take it with more than a pinch of salt. She hadn’t wanted to pry. Robbe was her friend, and she considered Sander a friend now too, but it was their business. If they needed help, she hoped that they both knew that she was there for them. 

“I’m going to stop them before one of them gets hurt,” Robbe said, still laughing, as Zoë shoved at Sander’s side again. Sander was holding another empty bottle above Zoë’s head, out of her reach. “Baby,” he scolded, sliding effortlessly under Sander’s arm and wrapping his own around Sander’s waist. He caught Sander’s other hand in his, taking the bottle and passing it to Zoë, grinning at the pointed  _ thank you, Robbe _ he received from their friend, before twining his and Sander’s fingers together and pressing their fists to his own chest. “Don’t be mean.” 

Yasmina’s chest ached at the soft look that crossed Sander’s face when he looked down at his boyfriend, the way it changed his entire face as his teasing grin morphed into a private smile. Looking at them hurt like pressing on a bruise, a dull throb under her skin. Stealing a look at Zoë, Yasmina could tell that her friend was thinking the same thing.

Neither boy seemed to really notice when both of the girls moved away.

* * *

From: Asim (21:39)

_ Having fun? _

From: Asim (21:39)

_ I mean, as much fun as you can have when I’m not there _

From: Asim (21:40)

_ Obviously _

“So are you going to tell me who’s been talking to you all night or do I have to guess?” Zoë asked as Yasmina looked at her phone with her cup cradled against her chest. 

She and Zoë had moved from the kitchen to the living room in their attempt to tidy up, but had promptly abandoned their task when they saw the sheer number of bottles scattered around the room, balanced precariously on mantle pieces and hidden in plant pots. They’d settled instead by the television, both sipping from the cups of non-alcoholic punch that Jana had made especially for them and kept hidden in the downstairs bathroom, of all places (Jana said she didn’t want to risk it being spiked by someone who thought it was just a mixer). It didn’t really bother Yasmina that all of her friends would drink at parties when she didn’t, but it was nice all the same to have Zoë with her. They naturally gravitated towards each other because of it, if Yasmina decided to come, and Yasmina often treasured the time they spent together like this, the conversations they shared.

This conversation was not one Yasmina particularly wanted to be having, however. 

She was careful to school her expression into one of vague confusion before she lifted her gaze to look at Zoë, feeling the weight of her friend’s stare on the side of her face. “Hm?” she hummed innocently, eyebrows furrowing. She tried to subtly turn the screen away from Zoë when she saw her friend’s stare flick down to her phone. 

Zoë looked at her with a bored expression, dark bottom lip pouting slightly and head tilting to the side as she pointed at Yasmina’s phone. “You’ve been looking at your phone all night!” she said, laughing slightly at Yasmina’s attempt to appear casual. 

“No, I haven’t!” Yasmina defended. Zoë hummed as she took a sip of her drink, eyebrows raising as she looked at Yasmina over the rim of her cup. Yasmina sighed with exaggerated exasperation, making a deliberate show of putting her phone away, leaving Asim’s messages unanswered again. She held both hands up in the air with a pointed look at Zoë. “See?”

“Yes, you have,” Zoë countered, narrowing her eyes and ignoring Yasmina’s attempts to end the conversation. She looked at Yasmina for a moment, calculating, before a sudden look of realisation lit up her face, her mouth dropping open. “Oh, my God!” Zoë said slowly, a grin slowly spreading across her face. Her teeth shone brightly against the red of her lipstick. Yasmina held her breath, bracing herself as Zoë asked the inevitable question: “Are you talking to a boy?” 

“No!” Yasmina said, maybe a little too quickly. It wasn’t technically a lie: she hadn’t replied to Asim all night. But she felt her cheeks flush with colour all the same, betraying her. 

Zoë looked like a child on Christmas morning. 

“Oh, my God, you are! Tell me!” She reached up to tug at Yasmina’s sleeve as Yasmina tried to hide her face behind her cup, shaking her head. “Yas!” Yasmina held the rim of the plastic between her teeth for a second, a shield, and looked away from her friend, gaze wandering across the room. She noticed Noor making her way towards the couch, bike helmet dangling from her fingers and flecks of paint splattered on her trainers. Yasmina watched as Britt jumped from the couch, throwing her arms around Noor’s neck, and registered the slightly crestfallen look of Britt’s friends as they remained on the couch where Britt had left them. Yasmina was caught between feeling sorry for them and also thinking that it was their own fault for staying friends with someone that evidently didn’t care about them that much. 

“Yasmina!” Zoë repeated, a slight whine to her voice as Yasmina continued to avoid looking at her. She tugged on Yasmina’s sleeve again. “Come on! Let me live vicariously through you!” Yasmina’s gaze flicked back to her friend, one eyebrow lifting in question with the rim of plastic still caught between her teeth. Zoë huffed, laughing slightly as she spoke, “Well, ever since Robbe and Sander moved out, all I get to hear about is Milan’s hookups!”

“Sander didn’t live with you,” Yasmina said, deliberately obtuse. “And you literally just told him you didn’t miss him.” 

Zoë made a short noise in the back of her throat, scoffing in exasperation. She stared at Yasmina for a second, calculating, before something seemed to click again, and her expression softened suddenly, shoulders dropping. She looked sincere as she spoke. “You know you don’t actually have to tell me,” Zoë said quietly. She paused. “But I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about it?” She blinked in quick succession, dark eyelashes fluttering. “I know after everything with Senne, I’ve been a bit—” 

Yasmina cut her off with a quick wave of her hand before touching her friend’s shoulder lightly. The last thing she wanted to do was see her friend upset. “No, Zoë, that’s not it.” At Zoë’s confused expression, she confessed, “I just… haven’t spoken to anyone about it yet.” She paused. “I don’t even really know if there’s anything to tell.” She wasn’t even sure if she  _ wanted _ to tell anyone about it -- but Zoë looked so earnest, so eager to help, and Yasmina thought that maybe it was time that she did tell someone about Asim. 

It couldn’t hurt.

“Well, who is he?” Zoë asked, brow still furrowed. “Do I know him?”

Yasmina shook her head. “No, he’s-- I know him through my brother. They went to school together,” she elaborated. She realised she didn’t really know how to talk about Asim; it was a secret she’d kept tucked close to her chest for so long now that it felt unnatural to speak about him. She knew Kamal knew, but they never spoke about it. And Damya had teased her about it, sweet in that way Damya always was, but Yasmina hadn’t spoken to her properly in months, losing touch as Yasmina had settled into school and with the girls. And Yasmina had felt somewhat childish around Damya more recently, who was a few years older and already talking about marriage and the future. Yasmina wasn’t anywhere near ready for that yet. 

“And he doesn’t like you back, or…?” Zoë asked, clearly confused. “Because if he doesn’t,” she added, suddenly vehement, shaking her head so her blonde hair fanned dramatically behind her, “then he is an idiot and he doesn’t--”

“No, Zoë,” Yasmina cut her off again. “I think he does.” Then: “I  _ know _ he does.” Yasmina muttered, looking down. She missed the grin that stretched across Zoë’s face at the admission. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Zoë asked. Yasmina paused, unsure of how to explain it to her friend. Yasmina knew that Zoë wasn’t going to judge her for having a crush on a boy (even if it was her brother’s best friend), and that she would try to be understanding. But Zoë wasn’t religious -- or at least if she was, it didn’t seem to influence Zoë’s decisions to the extent that it did Yasmina’s. Which was  _ fine _ : Yasmina didn’t care about that. Her friends didn’t have to share her faith for them to be friends. But Zoë also had a very different relationship with her parents compared to Yasmina; the blonde girl had stopped seeking their approval before Yasmina had even met Zoë. And it wasn’t that Yasmina actively chose to listen to everything that her parents told her -- they could be old fashioned and judgemental in the way any parent could be. But Yasmina still wanted to make them proud, and she respected them. Zoë didn’t have that kind of pressure anymore -- even if that was because of the poor relationship she shared with her parents. Zoë could essentially do what she wanted. And it was  _ Zoë _ : she was beautiful and talented and smart, and she had been in love, and she knew about boys (and she’d been hurt before, too,  _ badly _ , and Yasmina didn’t want to remind her of that). 

Yasmina didn’t know how to explain that it was just  _ different _ for her, even when her friends tried their hardest to prove that that didn’t matter.

She took a deep breath, lifting her head to speak without really knowing what she was going to say, but when she looked up, she saw that Zoë’s attention was diverted towards the living room door. Senne was half inside the room, feet in the hall and body curled around the frame as he clasped hands with someone in greeting who had evidently called his name as he passed the doorway. Yasmina wondered if Zoë had heard his name being called, or if she’d just somehow sensed that Senne was nearby. Whatever Yasmina was going to say fizzled out on her tongue. 

She said Zoë’s name softly, and again when her friend didn’t respond.

Zoë blinked, shaking her head quickly, and turning back to Yasmina. “I- sorry, Yas,” she said on a sigh. “What were you going to say?” She offered Yasmina a small smile, but the excitement and confusion from Yasmina’s news was gone. Yasmina could tell that she was distracted by the way her friend couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder. Senne wasn’t there anymore, but Zoë’s gaze lingered on the hall, as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to come back or not. Yasmina placed a hand on Zoë’s elbow. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Yasmina said gently. Now wasn’t the time to talk about Asim; Zoë didn’t need to be hearing about Yasmina’s schoolgirl crush when she was still dealing with Viktor and the break up and everything else. “How are you doing?”

The look on Zoë’s face was all the answer that Yasmina needed, and she offered her friend a small smile in encouragement, coaxing. 

Asim could wait.

* * *

Robbe smelt like firewood and frost as he settled next to Yasmina about an hour later, a mixture of warm and cold tinged with the earthy scent of weed. Zoë had stood up from her place on the couch a few minutes ago to get another drink, offering Yasmina a somewhat watery smile as she’d told her she’d be back. She’d been distracted by Sander and Robbe walking through the door with the other boys on her way out, however, and all of them had looked considerably more tense than they had when they’d been in the kitchen. Zoë had said something to the couple, and they had chatted briefly, the girl shooting a worried glance towards Robbe before turning her attention to Sander. The pair of them had leant against the wall to talk, looking like twins with their sharp features and white-blonde hair, as Robbe had moved away, tugging lightly on Sander’s sleeve to alert him of his departure before making his way over to Yasmina where she sat on the couch, watching the exchange. The tips of his ears and his nose were red from being outside in the February night, and one side of his hair was lying flat against his head, Yasmina guessed from where he had been curled up against Sander outside. 

“Alright?” Robbe asked as he leant back, tapping his beer bottle against Yasmina’s cup and offering her a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’m alright,” Yasmina replied, curious. “You okay?” 

Robbe hummed, head tilting against the back of the couch, exposing the length of his neck. He sighed, looking at the ceiling. The living room was mostly empty now, save for a few random people that hadn’t drifted to another room yet and some of their friend group. Yasmina would need to go home soon. The music had been turned down a while ago, probably due to a noise complaint, but she still had to strain to hear what Robbe said when he spoke quietly after a moment. “We saw Britt,” he said.

“Ah,” Yasmina said. She mirrored Robbe’s position, leaning further back into the couch and letting her head turn towards Robbe. “And how did that go?” she asked. 

Robbe let out a short huff of laughter, self-deprecating with a shake of his head, lolling to the side to meet Yasmina’s gaze. There was a sardonic twist to his mouth. “About as well as you would think.” 

“That well?” Yasmina asked, sarcastic. Robbe lifted his eyebrows in agreement. “Is Sander okay?” she asked when Robbe’s stare travelled back over to his boyfriend, still speaking to Zoë. Jens was standing close behind Sander, their backs to each other as they both leant against the wall. The dark haired boy was talking to Moyo, but he leant back deliberately against Sander when he laughed at something his friend said, a comforting presence, and Sander seemed to shift unconsciously to support him. Robbe didn’t look away from them as he spoke, a soft smile lifting the corner of his mouth, dimple carving into his cheek briefly. 

“I think it bothered me more than it bothered him, to be honest.” Then: “Does that make me a bad boyfriend?” 

“No,” Yasmina replied instantly, surprised by the question. “Why would it?” 

“Because I’m jealous,” Robbe said without looking away, evidently annoyed with himself. “Which is so stupid, because it’s not like he’s even attracted to Britt anymore, and I know that he loves me. And even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t want to get back with her anyway after everything that happened because it was so fucked up.” Yasmina didn’t say anything, startled by the sudden outburst. Robbe didn’t tend to talk so much in one go. The boy’s gaze shifted back towards her, looking young in the way he stared up at her from where he was slumped against the cushions. “Your silence isn’t helping,” he added, voice small.

“I think,” Yasmina started slowly, unsure of what to say. She took a deep breath. “I think it’s okay to feel jealous -- or whatever it is that you’re feeling.” Yasmina didn’t think jealousy was the right word. “Sander has a history with Britt that you’re not part of,” she added, and Robbe’s eyes dropped to his lap, fiddling with his watch strap. “I think it’s natural to feel a bit weird about it, even though you know he’s not interested. And,” she said, bumping her shoulder against Robbe’s in an attempt to get him to look at her, “don’t you think the real issue is maybe that Britt hurt Sander, and her being near him reminds you of that?”

“I don’t ever really forget about that,” Robbe muttered.

“Exactly.” 

“I dunno, Yas, I just --” he stopped, playing with the strap again. “I just really hate how she treated him, you know? And she’s never even properly apologised.” 

“I know it’s probably not good enough,” Yasmina said, “but I think she really is sorry. And you know that I’m not exactly her biggest fan.” Robbe snorted, muttering a quiet  _ me neither _ . It was true, though: as much as Yasmina didn’t really like Britt, she could see the way Britt had looked at the two boys in the kitchen earlier, and the guilt that had crossed Britt’s face when she looked at Sander. “I know it’s not the same as an actual apology, though,” Yasmina added. 

“The thing is,” Robbe started slowly, “I don’t think Sander even really needs one. He’s done with it.” He turned to look at Yasmina again, still so boyish. “That should be good enough for me, right?” 

“Maybe,” Yasmina said with a shrug. “I don’t really know.”

“Me neither.” 

They sat together quietly for a moment, gazes trained on Sander and their friends, and Yasmina wondered briefly what if would be like to see Asim surrounded by everyone, if they would accept him as easily as they had accepted Sander. 

She knew they would. 

“Robbe?” The boy made a small noise to show that he was listening. “How did you know that you were in love?” Robbe’s gaze snapped back to Yasmina, evidently surprised by the question. Yasmina was slightly surprised too, if she was being honest. She hadn't intended to ask that. She felt her cheeks warm as Robbe looked at her, but she held his stare.

“Um,” Robbe said, stuttering. “I don’t know.” He looked back towards Sander absentmindedly, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. “I just  _ did _ , I guess.” He paused, before murmuring, “Like I couldn’t help it.” 

“Would you choose not to be?” she asked. Yasmina wasn’t sure what answer she was looking for. “If you could?” 

Robbe let out a short sigh, shoulders lifting with the breath. He didn’t look at Yasmina as he spoke, eyes dropped to his lap. His words were slow, as if he was thinking carefully about what to say next. “Maybe I would have, at first. I hid that part of me for a really long time.” He picked distractedly at the sticker on his beer bottle. “And when I met Sander it was so  _ scary _ . Like,” he huffed out a laugh, “here was this boy that I didn’t know but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And I didn’t want to be thinking about him because I didn’t want to admit what that meant, but I  couldn’t _stop_.” Robbe looked up from the bottle, and Yasmina followed his gaze across the room again. She saw the way Sander was watching them, head tilted against the wall and the lazy curve of his jaw as he half-listened to whatever Zoë was saying. He winked when Robbe met his gaze, and Robbe grinned. “And he liked me back,” Robbe said softly. “That was the craziest part.”

“Even with everything that happened, though?” Yasmina probed. “You still would have chosen him? You’d do it all again?”

“I mean, I’d rather not have to repeat some parts of it, but yeah,” Robbe quipped, laughing slightly. “I dunno, Yas, it’s like I said: I didn’t  _ choose _ to fall in love. I just did.” A pensive look crossed his face. “And I guess losing him those times made me realise it was real -- because it hurt so fucking much, y’know? Like,” he started, looking around the room as if searching for the words, “I’d rather take all of the bad stuff, if it means I get the good stuff as well. Because the good stuff is much better than the bad stuff is bad.”

Yasmina nodded. “And that’s not a choice?” she asked, squinting slightly in confusion.

Robbe rolled his eyes, nodding once in defeat. “I mean, I  _ guess _ , in a way,” he conceded. “But how is it really a choice if the other option is not being with him?”  _ Oh _ . “Why, anyway?” Robbe asked, narrowing his eyes at her, lightening the mood.

Yasmina shrugged, flippant. “No reason,” she said. “Just curious.” She could feel the weight of her phone in her pocket again. 

“Right,” Robbe said slowly, drawing out the vowel -- and he sounded so much like Sander in that second that Yasmina almost had to do a double-take. “Just curious,” he mimicked, teasing. He nudged his elbow against her own, gentle in that way that Robbe always was. “You should go for it, Yas. Whoever it is. He’d be lucky to have you.” The smile Robbe offered was so genuine that it made Yasmina’s ribs hurt, touched by her friend’s sweet words. 

“Maybe,” Yasmina said quietly, but she was already taking out her phone, pulling up Asim’s messages. Robbe deliberately kept his stare away from the screen, and Yasmina had never appreciated him more. Her thumbs hovered over the keypad. 

“Trust me, Yasmina,” Robbe said, smile stretching as Sander ambled over towards them, his arms already reaching out to pull his boyfriend up from the couch. “It’s so worth it.” 

To: Asim (22:53)

_ You’re right. Not as fun without you  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write a Yasmina chapter without a scene between the best buds, could I?
> 
> I'm also just really here for a Sander and Zoë friendship. 
> 
> Maybe this is controversial, but I decided for the sake of this fic to not have Yasmina know Sander through her brother. Obviously, we don't know if WTFock will decide to go down that route or not. While I loved the Balloon Squad in the OG, it just didn't feel as natural to me to have Yasmina and Sander know each other, for some reason. Watch WTFock prove me wrong once again. 
> 
> Also, Bel!Youssef. I am very excited.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, my lovelies. 
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr at wasteourdays.


	6. Aaron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron wasn’t like Sander. Sander, who was older, and cooler, and knew about things like music and art. Sander, who had had girlfriends and boyfriends. Sander was content to wait alone, sketching or taking photos, until Robbe was ready to leave -- sometimes simply sitting with a cup of coffee and pretending to be annoyed when Robbe would swoop in for a sip before rolling away again. 
> 
> Aaron couldn’t do that: he wasn’t cool enough to just sit and do nothing and make it look good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back -- finally! 
> 
> So the thing about me taking so long with this is that WTFock's social media intern kind of put a spanner in the works storyline-wise for me on Valentine's Day for this chapter. Not that I'm complaining about the SM or the intern, although I am confused by all of the aesthetic building shots...
> 
> I'll be honest: I don't really like this chapter. It's pretty much just a brain-dump of potentially funny conversations (or at least, I hope they're funny) that Aaron would have with the boys. I literally didn't even include the love declaration because I can't fathom how that would go, and I couldn't bring myself to write something that awkward, haha! 
> 
> Also: what do we actually know about Aaron?! I felt like I kept switching between Magnus and Aaron and Basille, which I guess is kind of the point, but it was also incredibly frustrating.
> 
> Anyway, as always, thanks for reading, my lovelies, and I would love to read your thoughts! I don't want to give up this fic yet, but I feel like I'm running out of ways to talk about one party lol. Inspiration and suggestions are very welcome!

Tonight was the night, Aaron thought. Tonight was the night that he was finally going to tell Amber that he loved her. 

He was ready — nervous, but ready. He’d psyched himself up at the pre-game, downing a few more shots than he usually would have that early on in the night for courage and ignoring the quizzical look that Sander had sent him as he threw the vodka back. He’d admittedly been a little unsteady on his feet as they had walked to Jana’s, the soft glow of the streetlights blurry in his peripheral vision and the air damp like it was going to rain. The boys had laughed at him when he tripped over that stupid bike -- because when were the boys not laughing at him -- but Aaron had been tipsy enough to laugh along with them as he had found his footing again. 

He still had his buzz when they reached Jana’s house, a combination of the alcohol and nervous energy making him jumpy and restless. He followed the boys as Sander and Jens led them through the crowded hallway into the living room, Robbe’s fingers hooked in Sander’s sleeve and Aaron trailing at the back as he craned his neck to look for Amber. She had messaged him earlier when he was at Moyo’s, Amber pre-ing at Jana’s with her friends before everyone else had gotten there, but Aaron couldn’t see his girlfriend in the hallway or the living room. He hadn’t noticed any of the other girls as they had moved through the house either, though, so he assumed they were all somewhere together — probably the kitchen. 

Aaron was distracted from his search as the Broerrrs stopped near the middle of the living room, all of them suddenly realising that the majority of their friends must have been elsewhere and not quite knowing what to do with themselves upon their discovery. Despite attending most of the parties hosted by their classmates, the boys didn’t actually socialise with others that much — apart from the girls. They had other friends, classmates and their wider social circle, but more often than not, they spent the majority of the night in bathtubs or perched on kitchen counters getting high, leaving occasionally to find more booze before eventually wandering off for the final hours when they got bored of each other. Jens would inevitably drift to Jana at some point over the course of the evening, or to whoever else caught his eye on that particular occasion (Aaron had already noticed him looking at the new kid who had transferred last month, with his sharp features and mop of curls, at a party the previous week). Moyo was already pretending not to look at Britt’s friends perched on the couch across the room, evidently looking for Noor — even though he continued to insist that nothing was happening. And Robbe and Sander had a tendency to disappear at various points of the night, reappearing with flushed cheeks and ruffled hair and pleased grins each time. Sometimes the couple didn’t even attend at all — or Robbe would come alone, like before, occasionally leaving early after sneaking glances at his phone all night, a worried furrow drawing a line between his eyebrows. Aaron himself spent a lot more time with the girls than he used to, Amber usually less willing to hang out with the Broerrrs alone than vice versa, but Aaron didn’t mind — he got on well with the girls, especially Luca. 

The friend groups had slowly been melding together more over the past couple of months, the girls and the boys linked together by various relationships (mostly Robbe’s -- because Robbe was everyone’s favourite). They’d always existed in each other’s orbit anyway thanks to Jana and Jens, but now it felt more solid -- like one big group instead of two little ones.

The music in the living room was loud enough that Aaron could only just catch Sander laughing in response to something that Jens had said. Aaron hadn’t heard whatever it was, Jens’ back to Moyo and Aaron as he spoke to the couple, and it momentarily left Moyo and Aaron to their own devices. Both boys were becoming increasingly used to being left out of the conversations between the Jens and Robbe, not that it bothered Aaron that much. The best friends were closer than they had been when Aaron first started hanging out with them, and he hadn’t been privy to the weird best friend telepathy that seemed to exist between the two of them. Aaron assumed that that was what they were like when they were younger, but Jens himself had said that he felt like their friendship had changed, like Robbe was both the same person and an entirely different one. Aaron guessed it was probably because Robbe wasn’t hiding a part of himself anymore -- and because he had become a lot more confident since he had started dating Sander.

Robbe was just happier in general. 

Moyo seemed unphased by being left out, still looking around the room for Noor before taking the short lull in conversation as his cue to get their drinks. He made a twirling motion with one finger in the air before placing both of his hands on Aaron’s shoulders when Aaron didn’t immediately obey, spinning Aaron around to get to the beer that they had all brought. Aaron had, unsurprisingly, been forced to carry the backpack, all of the other boys conveniently finding excuses not to. Jens had claimed that he was in charge of getting the weed, which he had done, and Moyo had argued that he had already played his part by hosting pres. It had been Sander’s turn to provide the beer, and Robbe -- well, Robbe hadn’t really done anything, but had argued that he was the only reason that Sander was there in the first place when Aaron had pointed that out, which Jens and Moyo had accepted as a good enough answer. The couple had spent the majority of the walk over trying to carry each other on their backs anyway, so Aaron supposed that it had probably been for the best that the two boys hadn’t been given the responsibility. 

“Moyo!” Aaron grumbled as Moyo deliberately tugged at the bag’s zipper, making Aaron lose his balance as he tilted backwards with the force of it. Moyo laughed, handing Aaron a beer before taking one for himself. Aaron shrugged the bag off, letting it land at his feet with a dull clink. He heard Jens’ exasperated _for fuck’s sake_ as he straightened up, Sander and Robbe looking at Jens with smug twists to their mouths, clearly teasing their friend about something. Robbe’s arm was wrapped around Sander’s neck and Sander’s hands rested on Robbe’s hips, the touch easy and familiar. Jens turned away from them with a huff, accepting the beer that Moyo was already holding out to him with a waiting hand. Jens twisted the cap off with practiced ease, lifting the bottle to tap it against Moyo’s and Aaron’s with a quiet skål before they all took a sip.

They stood in companionable silence for a second, the taste of cheap beer lingering on their tongues. Aaron decided it was as good a time as any: “I’m going to tell Amber that I love her tonight.” 

Moyo choked on his beer. 

“You’re _what_?” Jens asked as Moyo spluttered. 

Moyo’s voice was slightly strangled when he spoke, “No, you’re not!” 

Aaron nodded, rocking himself forward on his toes before falling back on his heels again. “I’m going to do it,” he insisted. “Tonight is the night!” He pointed a finger in both of his friends’ faces, beer bottle dangling from one hand. Jens and Moyo blinked as he did so, as if offended by the digits, before they began to vehemently shake their heads, groaning. Aaron saw Robbe hide his face in Sander’s neck, Sander’s hand instinctively lifting to pet the hair at Robbe’s nape. 

“What’s tonight?” Sander asked curiously, lifting his gaze from his boyfriend to look at Aaron. Robbe made a strangled noise, muffled against Sander’s neck, as Aaron tried to reply. Robbe raised his hand to press it over Sander’s mouth.

“Please don’t ask that question,” he whined as Aaron told Sander, “I’m going to tell Amber I love her.” 

Sander’s only response was a slightly pouted lip and a tilt of his head, Robbe following his movements to keep his face pressed to Sander’s neck. Sander continued to play with Robbe’s hair, entertaining his boyfriend’s antics. Aaron wasn’t surprised by Sander’s lack of reaction: he’d already spoken to the older boy about it, had specifically _asked_ Sander for advice.

* * *

They had been perched on the wall by the skatepark, feet resting on their usual bench and Robbe’s painted stare watching their backs, the vibrancy of the portrait starting to fade on the brickwork thanks to the winter months. The rest of the Broerrrs had abandoned Aaron and Sander in favour of the ramps a while ago, the boys restless from a full week of school and being cooped up inside due to the cold weather. Robbe had hung back, perceptive, looking at Aaron with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes when Aaron hadn’t gotten up to follow, but he hadn’t pushed when Aaron had said he would catch up, evidently confused in the way he drew out his _okay_ while tilting his head to the side with his hair peeking out under his beanie. Sander had turned to look at his friend with surprise at Aaron’s words, but his gaze had whipped back to Robbe at the younger boy’s acquiescence, a desperate expression crossing Sander’s features as he looked at his boyfriend. He had shaken his head minutely at Robbe, pleading, and Aaron had tried not to be offended by Sander’s apparent reluctance to be left alone with him. Robbe had only offered Sander a sly smile, evidently gleeful at his boyfriend’s apparent discomfort, before touching one finger to Sander’s chin, guiding his face forward to peck him briefly on the lips. He had murmured a mocking _have fun_ against Sander’s mouth -- which, like the headshake, Aaron guessed he wasn’t supposed to notice -- before stepping back with a single raise of his eyebrows. Robbe was still smirking when he had turned to leave, like he was enjoying a private joke that Aaron wasn’t in on, and the wheels of his skateboard had clattered against the concrete as he followed Jens and Moyo.

Sander and Aaron had then sat in silence, Aaron fidgeting nervously and Sander watching him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye.

Admittedly, it was unlike Aaron to exclude himself. It wasn’t unusual for Sander to stay on the sidelines if he joined the Broerrrs at the skatepark, knees and ego bruised from one too many attempts to skate due to Robbe’s wheedling, Sander wobbling unsteadily on a board with his knuckles turning white as he clung to Robbe’s hands. But Aaron felt like he was a few steps behind his friends at the best of times: he wasn’t going to voluntarily run the risk of missing out on something. Not that Sander seemed to think that he was missing out -- but Aaron wasn’t like Sander. Sander, who was older, and _cooler_ , and knew about things like music and art. Sander, who had had girlfriends and boyfriends. Sander was content to wait alone, sketching or taking photos, until Robbe was ready to leave -- sometimes simply sitting with a cup of coffee and pretending to be annoyed when Robbe would swoop in for a sip before rolling away again. 

Aaron couldn’t do that: he wasn’t cool enough to just sit and do nothing and make it look good.

“Why are you being weird?” Sander asked eventually, evidently bored of waiting for Aaron to say whatever it was that he wanted to say.

“I’m not being weird!” Aaron said quickly, defensive. The sun was hanging low in the late January afternoon, reflecting on the water and Sander’s hair, making Aaron squint one eye shut as he twisted to look at the older boy.

Sander stared at Aaron for a second, silently calling Aaron out on his bullshit, before stating, “Yes, you are.” His breath misted in front of his face like a stream of smoke as he spoke, his chin tucked into the grey scarf wrapped around his neck. His hands were buried in his pockets, and the worn leather of his jacket squeaked slightly as he hunkered down against the wind, the breeze lifting wayward strands of his fringe and at the crown of his head. Aaron shifted nervously under his stare, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he struggled to find the right words. “Aaron,” Sander prompted, perplexed, when Aaron didn’t say anything else. 

“I want to tell Amber that I love her,” Aaron confessed, his words almost tripping over each other in his rush to say them. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. He hadn’t known how to bring it up to the other boys -- they tended to make fun of him when it came to Amber, or just shut him down completely, telling him they didn’t want to know. 

Sander had seemed like his best option.

Aaron realised that he might have misjudged when Sander blinked at him, evidently surprised by the confession. “And?” Sander asked, his tone conveying that he didn’t see what the problem was. _Of course he didn’t understand_ , Aaron realised. Practically everyone was at least a little bit in love with Sander within five minutes of meeting him: he probably never had to worry about people not loving him. 

“What if she doesn’t say it back?” Aaron wondered. 

“Do you _think_ she’s not going to say it back?” Sander countered. His dark brows pulled together as he looked at his friend, twisting slightly to face Aaron more fully.

Aaron paused, thinking. “I don’t know,” he confessed, gaze dropping to his knees. The stone was cold through the material of his jeans. He bounced his heels against the bench, shoving his hands in his pockets for something to do. “It took her long enough to even agree to go out with me,” he said. 

“Do you _need_ her to say it back?” Sander asked.

Aaron frowned in confusion at the question, lifting his stare to look at his friend again. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Well,” Sander started with a shrug, “does Amber not saying it back mean that you don’t love her anymore?” 

_Oh_. Aaron hadn’t thought about that. “No,” he said after thinking about it for a moment. 

Sander tilted his head to the side with a nod, as if that answered Aaron’s question, before turning to look toward the skatepark. Aaron kept his gaze fixed on Sander as the older boy watched Robbe, who was balanced precariously on the lip of a ramp, half of his board hovering in the air. Sander’s eyes tracked Robbe’s movement as he tilted over the edge, and Aaron saw the smile tugging at Sander’s lips when Robbe let out a whoop as he hurtled towards the ground. 

“How long were you and Robbe together before you said it?” Aaron asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“That depends if you want the simple answer or the complicated one,” Sander teased, gaze snapping back to Aaron at the question. He was smiling as he spoke, but there was a sardonic twist to his mouth, as if he didn’t quite know how to feel about the memory. 

“The simple one,” Aaron decided. 

“Three days.” 

“ _What_?” 

“You said the simple one!” 

“That’s not simple!” Aaron exclaimed. “You told Robbe you were in love with him after _three days_?” Sander shrugged a shoulder, arching one eyebrow in acknowledgement. “But you’d only known each other like, two weeks!” Aaron said, thinking back to when they had all met Sander at the beach house for the first time. He couldn’t even remember Robbe talking to Sander all that much. Sander had still been with Britt at the beach house, had been the only reason he’d even been invited. _Fuck_ , Robbe had still been with Noor. 

“I’d seen him before already, though,” Sander said, as if that justified it. His stare wandered to Robbe again, who acknowledged him with a wink, blowing Sander an air kiss. “I was basically in love with him by that point, anyway,” Sander said honestly without looking away.

“You two are so weird,” Aaron grumbled with a shake of his head, genuinely perplexed by his friends’ relationship. He didn’t understand why the guys gave him so much shit for the way he talked about Amber when Sander and Robbe were literally _right there_. “Wait,” Aaron realised suddenly, “did Robbe say it back?” He was fully facing Sander now, knee drawn up to his chest. 

Sander turned his head to look at Aaron again, his expression shuttering slightly as if contemplating what he should say next. “Not exactly,” he admitted. He paused before speaking again. “He saw me with Britt that night. Wasn’t really the time for love declarations,” he mused.

 _Oh_. Aaron only nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He didn’t know the details of the start of Sander and Robbe’s relationship, but he knew that it had been messy. “That’s part of the complicated answer?” he guessed, remembering the dark shadows that had bruised the skin under Robbe’s eyes sporadically during the weeks that had followed his coming out, how Robbe had gone from frustrated to giddy to devastated. 

Sander inclined his head, offering Aaron a self-deprecating smile. “That’s part of the complicated answer,” he echoed. The pair of them settled into silence, both lost in thought. “You know,” Sander added after a while, “Robbe rejected me at first.”

“Seriously?” Aaron asked. Sander nodded. “Wow.” Aaron was surprised: he’d assumed Robbe had been into Sander from the start -- he’d been devastated when Britt had told him it wasn’t real. Aaron blew out a breath between his lips, bracing his hands on his knees as he twisted to place both feet firmly on the bench again. “Fuck, man,” he said. “I don’t know if that makes me more or less nervous.” 

Sander snorted, clapping a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “But my point _is_ ,” he stressed, “Amber’s into you. Worst comes to worst, she doesn’t say it back. And if she doesn’t,” Sander added, shoulders pulling up to his ears, “that doesn’t mean she won’t.” Aaron nodded. “Look at me and Robbe.”

* * *

The Broerrrs groaned again as Aaron repeated his plan to Sander, Robbe -- the hypocrite -- offering Aaron a vehement _no_ from his hiding place in Sander’s neck. Aaron watched Sander’s gaze drop to the crown of his boyfriend’s head at Robbe’s response, a comical expression crossing his face, before flicking back up to Aaron, evidently surprised by the Broerrrs’ reactions. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Aaron asked. He was starting to get pissed off: it was a bit rich of the other boys to be offering him relationship advice considering the messes they had made of their own love lives. Even Sander and Robbe had screwed it up at first. 

Jens said something about how it was too soon -- which was unfair when Aaron knew for a fact that Jens had told Jana he loved her just as quickly, perhaps even earlier in his relationship than Aaron and Amber were. Aaron could tell by the weird look that Sander spared Jens that he agreed with Aaron.

“You haven’t even had sex yet!” Moyo reasoned -- loudly -- hands held out in front of him in a diplomatic gesture as if presenting the facts. Jens nodded enthusiastically beside him, making a noise of affirmation through a mouthful of beer. Sander’s head dropped back with a quiet sigh at Moyo’s exclamation, face tilting towards the ceiling and eyes screwing shut in exasperation. Robbe’s eyes widen slightly, head still resting on Sander’s shoulder and gaze directed somewhere to Aaron’s left. Aaron followed his stare, feeling blood rushing to his cheeks when he noticed two girls standing close by looking at him with disgust. Aaron raised his hand in an aborted wave, before turning his head sharply to glare at Moyo, who grimaced slightly, shoulders lifting in apology. Aaron saw Jens smiling innocently at the girls out of the corner of his eye, but he chose to ignore him when he mimicked Moyo’s earlier stance, as if to say that Moyo still had a point. Robbe offered Aaron a sympathetic look, and no, Aaron wasn’t going to let Robbe get out of this one.

He pointed at Sander and Robbe as he argued, “They hadn’t had sex when they said it either!” Maybe Sander hadn’t actually said it in so many words, but Aaron had gotten the gist of it from their conversation at the park.

Aaron chose to ignore the sounds of disagreement that Jens and Moyo made as Sander turned his face away from the ceiling at Aaron’s words, tilting his head to the side in acknowledgement. “True,” he said, unbothered by the attention. His hands slid automatically to grip his boyfriend’s elbows as Robbe took a step back, Robbe demanding how Aaron knew that. Sander only seemed to realise he was in trouble when Robbe turned his gaze back towards him, shrinking slightly under Robbe’s stare and shrugging as he offered his defence. Aaron heard Robbe’s muttered oh my god as he pressed his face against Sander’s throat again, the rest of his words muffled by Sander’s clavicle. Aaron thought he heard the word “obsessed” at one point, though -- which: _rude_. 

“Seriously, Aaron,” Moyo said, distracting Aaron from the exchange. “You’ve only been together, what, two months?” Aaron nodded, and Moyo squinted an eye shut, shaking his head. “Nah, that’s too soon, man,” he said decisively with a swig of his beer. Aaron wanted to point out that Sander and Robbe had only been together for literal days, but he didn’t want to get Sander into any more trouble, so he stayed quiet. 

“Yeah, dude,” Jens chimed in. “What if she says no?” he asked, voicing Aaron’s own concern. Before Aaron could reply, Moyo pointed at Jens, nodding again in agreement, and Aaron waited, exasperated, for his chance to speak at the boys chattered back and forth.

“ _Wait_!” Robbe said suddenly, causing all three boys to whip their heads towards the couple. He looked almost queasy as he lifted his gaze to Sander’s, Sander wincing as he waited for Robbe to speak. “He asked you for sex tips too, didn’t he.” Robbe wasn’t asking, recalling his own conversation with Aaron the previous week. Sander didn’t say anything in response to Robbe’s statement, only offering him an apologetic smile as Robbe groaned Sander’s name in exasperation. 

Jens cackled at Robbe’s reaction, patting Robbe roughly on the shoulder in sympathy as Moyo howled. Aaron thought Robbe’s was being a little unfair to Sander: he hadn’t _not_ answered Aaron’s questions. 

* * *

“Robbe,” Aaron had started, shifting slightly in his seat to face his friend as he said his name, task forgotten as he tapped his pencil against the desk. “You and Sander have sex, right?” 

Yasmina leant back in her chair to look at Aaron behind Robbe’s back where she sat on Robbe’s other side, an incredulous look on her face. 

Aaron ignored her. 

To his credit, Robbe had barely missed a beat, used to his friend’s invasive questions. He didn’t even bother to look at Aaron, continuing to alternate his stare between the board and his workbook. “Among other things,” he said dryly, voice lowered so as not to draw the teacher’s attention. His pencil scratched against the paper. 

“What’s it like?” Yasmina’s eyes widened, shaking her head in a way that said what the fuck? Aaron ignored her again.

“ _What_?” Robbe asked.

“Y’know,” Aaron said, flapping his hand in the air to illustrate the generality of his question, “like, how is it?”

At that, Robbe let his pencil drop to the table with a dull thud, abandoning his work with defeat. He released a short sigh through his nose, his chest expanding under the dark green material of his hoodie. “Aaron,” he said quietly, voice stern. “Please don’t make me explain how Sander and I have sex.” 

“ _What_?” Aaron spluttered. That was so not what he meant.

Yasmina made a slightly choked sound, as if trying to stifle a laugh. 

“You can’t just ask people that shit, man,” Robbe hissed.

“Robbe, no, that’s not what I was — I know how you have sex!” Aaron said, his voice rising in his rush to explain. Yasmina cast her eyes towards the ceiling, and Aaron heard her muttered _Oh, my god_. Aaron glared at her, and she shot him an angelic smile. 

The two girls sitting at the desk in front of them turned to stare, and Robbe’s cheeks flushed a dark shade of red. Robbe offered them an awkward smile, two fingers lifting from his desk in the parody of a wave. “Boys,” their teacher drawled, not bothering to lift her stare from her desk. “Quiet.” The two girls shared a look before turning around again.

“Thanks for that,” Robbe muttered, elbowing Aaron in the ribs, Aaron yelped quietly. Robbe hunched forward, glancing over towards their teacher, before tilting his head to look at Aaron, his face only an inch away from the table. “What do you mean then?” he whispered.

“I want to know what it’s like,” Aaron said. Robbe made a face. “Amber and I have talked about it,” Yasmina also made a face, “and I obviously want to but I’m nervous and-” 

“Aaron,” Robbe interrupted. He gestured to his own body, squinting his eye shut as he looked at Aaron as if to convey his point. “I really don’t think I’m the right person for you to be having this conversation with.” 

“You are!” Aaron insisted, hand hitting the table. Both boys instantly looked towards their teacher at the noise. “You and Sander are in love!” he continued when she failed to look up. Aaron thought he heard one of the girls sitting in front of them let out a quiet aw. Robbe glared at him, and Aaron offered his friend a sheepish smile in apology.

Robbe sighed again, his eyes closing and a defeated expression crossing his face. He pressed his forehead briefly to the desk, bracing both hands on the edge of the table. He leant his weight into it for a second. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” he muttered before pushing himself away, slumping back into his chair, tilting his head back, as if accepting his fate. “And?”

“ _Boys_.” 

“Sorry, Miss,” Aaron said quickly, Robbe echoing his apology. Aaron turned his body to face the front of the classroom again, picking up his discarded pencil in an attempt to at least look like he was doing work, Robbe doing the same.

“What’s your point?” Robbe muttered, once he was sure their teacher was no longer paying them any attention. 

“Well, you’d never had sex before you slept with Sander, right?” Aaron asked, voice barely above a whisper. Robbe flushed again, the sharp cut of his cheekbones turning a rosey shade of pink, but he shook his head no in answer to Aaron’s question. “So weren’t you nervous?”

Robbe tilted forward again, adopting the same position he had before with his head inches from the desk. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, clearly thinking about Aaron’s question. “I mean,” Robbe started slowly, staring into space as he spoke, “kind of. We didn’t exactly discuss it beforehand.” 

“Did it bother you that he’d had sex before?” Aaron asked. 

Robbe’s brow furrowed, gaze flicking to Aaron. “I didn’t really think about it, to be honest,” he said. “I mean,” he shrugged, “I knew he’d had sex with Britt before, but it wasn’t like it was going to be the same, was it?”

“But, like, what if the sex with her was better?” 

“Thanks, Aaron,” Robbe muttered darkly. “I dunno, man. It wasn’t like that.” He paused, as if contemplating his next words. He looked uncomfortable: the boys didn’t usually talk about this stuff. They’d gotten a bit better -- after Robbe had come out, and after Moyo had told them about his mum, and after Sander had joined their group. But they still weren’t good at it. “We just did it,” Robbe said eventually, shrugging again. Aaron nodded slowly, mulling over his friend’s words. Robbe nudged him with his elbow. “I think if Amber really likes you, she won’t care,” Robbe assured his friend honestly. “Even if you’re bad at it,” he added, grinning. 

“I won’t be _bad_ at --”

“Right,” their teacher’s voice cut Aaron off, ringing out across the classroom. “Mr Jacobs, I hate to interrupt your discussion with Mr. IJzermans, but in case you have forgotten, we are in a classroom.” She gestured to the empty desk by the front. “Move, please.”

“But Miss--” Aaron started to protest. 

“No buts,” she said. “Unless you were talking about Norway’s relationship with the European Union -- which I can assume you weren’t,” she stressed as Aaron opened his mouth to lie, “you will move. Now, please.” Aaron’s head dropped in defeat, and he clumsily gathered his things in his arms. Robbe patted him on the arm once in consolation, failing to hide his grin, which quickly disappeared when their teacher turned her gaze towards Robbe. She stood by Aaron’s new desk, arms crossed, and Aaron grumbled as he slouched to his seat. “Thank you,” she said. She tapped a finger against his open textbook. “Now, Norway.”

* * *

“Fuck you guys,” Aaron said as all of the boys focused on Robbe. “I’m going to do it,” he muttered into his beer bottle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there was a Lucas cameo, because I miss that snakey boy. And yes, the two girls at the party are the same two girls in the classroom, because the boys are unlucky like that.
> 
> I also feel like I should stress that I don't think the boys bully Aaron, per se, but he is definitely that one in the friend group that gets ragged on the most.
> 
> I hope it was okay -- I'm sorry it's not my best!


	7. Robbe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Robbe couldn’t believe that this was his life now, his and his boyfriend’s grinning mouths pressed together in a crowded hallway at a party on a Friday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a while. I hope this chapter makes up for it -- or at least helps fill the WTFockdown-shaped hole in your heart.
> 
> It's also nearly 9,500 words. So there's that.
> 
> And it's Robbe! We love Robbe!
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay and staying safe. I know I'm personally struggling to stay motivated during lockdown, but I'm trying to stay positive. You know, be nice to yourself and each other and all that jazz. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I really struggled with Robbe at first -- which seems so strange given that we lived inside his head for so long. But maybe that was partly the reason why, y'know? Herbots just plays him so damn well. It also probably didn't help that I was trying to write about a party when I can't imagine being in a room with so many people right now.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated! Talk to me!

Robbe felt heads turn towards them as soon as the Broerrrs entered the hallway of Jana’s house, and he instinctively reached out to grasp the hem of Sander’s jacket.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, the staring: the Broerrrs tended to attract some attention at parties for one reason or another. Tripping and shoving their way through whichever house they were in that night if they had gone too hard at pre-drinks, bouncing off of walls and classmates with slurred apologies, sincerity dampened by laughter, or taking up too much space in the kitchen, crowded around the sink and perched on counters, heels banging against cabinets. In hallways, elbows knocking and sweat building on their hairlines, the napes of their necks, as they danced and threw back shots, or in the bathtub, loose-limbed and sprawling, jaws lazy as a haze of smoke obscured their faces, forcing everyone to wait or find somewhere else or accept the Broerrrs as an unwelcome audience. 

Sander twisted his arm back as they moved through the house, his fingers brushing softly against the inside of Robbe’s wrist. 

The attention wasn’t new — but it was different. It changed when Sander started to come with them. Friends and acquaintances no longer looked at them with amusement, or exasperation, or annoyance, used to their antics. They looked at them with  _ interest _ . 

Or, more specifically, they looked at  _ Sander _ with interest. 

Robbe let go of Sander’s jacket, linking their fingers together instead. 

Not that Robbe could blame people; he’d be a hypocrite if he did. Robbe was a fucking expert at looking at Sander. And Sander was  _ interesting _ , with his leather jacket and his white-blonde hair, his good looks and the effortless way he commanded a room without even meaning to. 

Robbe’s boyfriend was just a watchable person.

The only downside to that was, more often than not, Robbe was next to Sander — tucked under his arm, or holding his hand, or wrapped in his embrace. Which in itself wasn’t the issue: Robbe would never pass up the opportunity to touch Sander — he was proud of it, smug even. Robbe wanted everyone to know, to see, because Sander was  _ his _ , and he was Sander’s, and Sander had chosen  _ Robbe _ — continued to choose him — when he could have literally anyone he wanted. 

Robbe noticed two of Britt’s friends perched on the sofa in the crowded living room, looking lost without the blonde girl to fawn over. Their gazes scanned him and Sander from head to toe once the Broerrrs came to a halt in the middle of the room, and Robbe couldn’t help but wrap an arm around Sander’s waist, possessive and obvious. He snuck his hand under the layers of clothing, his thumb pressing into the cut of Sander’s hip. Robbe watched, with an odd mix of satisfaction and apprehension, as the girls’ eyes snapped to the contact. Sander brushed a kiss to Robbe’s temple at the touch, absentminded and automatic, and one of the girls bent her head forward to whisper something to the other, her hair falling like a dark curtain over her shoulder.

Robbe knew that he wasn’t the one the girls were talking about, not really. But he was, like always when it came to Sander, partially the focus of their attention. And it unsettled Robbe sometimes because, for a lot of his life, Robbe’s main goal had been to go unnoticed -- and, despite everything, it was still hard to quell the impulse.

The thing was, Robbe had always been relatively quiet by nature — bordering on shy — and he hadn’t ever really had a large social circle when he was growing up. He hadn’t ever felt the need for one; he met Jens on the first day of school, and they had been friends ever since, sticking together through primary and secondary. It didn’t really matter that Robbe was quiet because at least had Jens to keep him company — and he could be himself around Jens anyway.

Things changed for a while when Jens started dating Britt. Robbe was jealous of the pretty blonde girl who seemed annoyed by his presence in a way that he wasn’t when Jens talked to anyone else — a sticky, hot kind of jealousy that twisted his stomach and made his palms itch as he deliberately averted his gaze when Jens and Britt kissed.

But that was only because Robbe missed spending time with his best friend — and because he didn’t have a girlfriend of his own. 

No other reason. 

Things changed again when Jens started seeing Jana. Robbe observed from the sidelines as Jens flitted between one girl and the other, indecisive and guilty and in love. And Robbe watched the fallout, Britt’s nasty remarks and the way Jana shrunk in on herself. But Jens dating Jana had been okay, because it meant Robbe didn’t have to spend time with Britt anymore, and Jana was Robbe’s friend too — one of his best friends. And Jana didn’t seem to mind as much as Britt did when Robbe tagged along on their dates, desperate to get out of the house and away from the arguing. 

Sometimes Jana looked at him in a way that made Robbe feel uncomfortable, like she knew what Robbe was thinking and feeling about his best friend, her boyfriend, but then she would offer him a small smile or ruffle his hair fondly, and look away without saying anything, and Robbe could breathe again. 

Then that went to shit, and Jens and Aaron and Moyo would talk about the girls they were going to pull at whatever party they had been invited to that weekend or which celebrity was the fittest, and Robbe would swallow a mouthful of whiskey or take a drag of a joint, sullen and silent, and tell himself that it was the alcohol and the weed that made his throat burn. 

It had taken him some time to adjust to being one of four instead of one of two when they first started hanging out with Moyo and Aaron. Robbe had always been the obvious sidekick out of him and Jens anyway— because Jens was  _ Jens _ , funny and sharp and good with girls, and Robbe was the quiet one. Robbe hadn’t minded too much, though, because even if there were four of them, he was still Jens’  _ best _ friend. And Aaron and Moyo were his Broerrrs; Robbe was one of them — having the Broerrrs meant Robbe was never really alone. And the less time Robbe spent alone, the less he had to think about why he felt uncomfortable when the boys talked about girls, or why he would catch the wrist of whichever girl he was kissing at a party when she tried to snake her hand under his t-shirt or reached for his belt. 

The good thing about being a quiet kid and being Jens’ best friend growing up meant that Robbe was naturally good at fading into the background — and that came in handy when Robbe started wanting to make himself less noticeable. 

He had always been small (considerably shorter than Jens) and skinny. His clothes were always a little too big, baggy on his slender frame despite his mother’s insistence that he would “grow into them” — which he never did. But Robbe found comfort in the shapeless way his clothes hung off of him, making him appear smaller still. It hid the way his body was turning leaner from skateboarding and surfing, and it stopped girls looking at him the way they often looked at Jens. He stuck to neutral colours, muted greens and greys, earthy browns that matched his hair and his eyes — anything that helped Robbe  _ blend _ . 

It all fit the general skater boy aesthetic that the Broerrrs favoured anyway -- a uniform that helped Robbe be as inconspicuous as possible. Because if Robbe dressed like them, he was one of them -- no matter what Moyo sometimes tried to imply. 

He cut his hair the previous summer — when he had already started to worry that it looked girly, and his dad kept telling him it was too long, and when his mum hadn’t really been well enough to defend him, even though she loved his longer hair. He felt exposed without it at first, that extra shield to hide behind, like people would be able to read every emotion on his face that he shouldn’t be feeling, and Robbe had been careful to keep his stare from wandering at the skatepark, to keep his cheeks from heating whenever Jens looked at him for too long or touched him in any way that was disappointingly platonic. 

He kept wearing his beanie, because at least that hid the way his ears burned sometimes. 

His friends were a deliberate choice too, in a way. Because Jens was beautiful, and Moyo was loud— sometimes too loud — and Aaron was dumb in that way that people would laugh at him enough that they wouldn’t notice that Robbe’s laugh was sometimes forced. And they were his friends — and Robbe could goof off with them, and smoke with them and drink with them, and pull pranks and film vlogs and skate with them. He could almost be himself with them -- but they were another piece of his armour. 

Even if that armour sometimes felt like it didn’t fit right, constricting and awkward. 

Because the Broerrrs liked girls, and talked about girls, and did things with girls — or at least talked about what they would do with girls if they got the chance.  _ Girlsgirlsgirls.  _ And Robbe didn’t want to discuss those things, never mind do them. But the Broerrrs did — so Robbe got a girlfriend. 

They went on a date to the cinema, and he held her hand at school, and kissed her at the skatepark in front of everyone. 

It didn’t last very long and Robbe didn’t really make any particular effort to prolong it. When it ended, Moyo asked Robbe if he had finally done  _ it _ , and Robbe made up some bullshit excuse just to get Moyo to stop asking questions. 

It was partly why he kissed Noor that night, goaded into it and desperate for the boys to leave him alone. He had pushed himself up from the bathtub with far more grace than he expected given the combination of whiskey and weed in his system, and he had left with Noor that night instead of the Broerrrs, his hands feeling too big in the dip of her waist as they sat on her scooter.

Noor was cool, and beautiful, and artistic, and smart (and Robbe was self-aware enough now to recognise the parallels between Noor and Sander, which Sander found hilarious and Robbe found embarrassing). Noor genuinely liked Robbe, and he liked her. If Robbe could make it work with anyone, surely he could make it work with her. 

(He couldn’t.)

But he stayed with Noor, even though he didn’t even really agree to a relationship in the first place, and tried to ignore the rising panic in his chest every time she tried to do more than kiss him, the twinge of annoyance he felt every time she would drape herself over his back or hook her arms around his neck. 

He tried to make up an excuse when his friends told him to bring Noor to the beach house — because that would inevitably mean sharing a bed, and Robbe needed to avoid sharing a bed with Noor at all costs. But they ignored him, as Robbe’s friends tended to do those days (and he’d cursed himself for becoming so good at being ignored — even by Jens), and Noor had come with them to the beach. 

But Robbe wasn’t even Noor’s only reason for wanting to go, because Noor already had a friend who was going to the beach house — Britt, of all people. And wasn’t that just a cosmic joke, because of course Robbe’s own girlfriend was friends with the one person he would want to properly avoid on that trip.

But Britt brought her boyfriend. 

And Robbe met Sander -- and it was only further proof that the universe was playing some kind of trick on him.

Because Robbe had gotten used to going unnoticed by everyone after so long — and then Sander noticed  _ everything _ .  __

It was like Sander knew that Robbe needed to get away -- that despite the endless sand and sky and sea, Robbe felt claustrophobic in such an open space. He had pushed Robbe around effortlessly on that shopping trolley, Robbe surprised by his own boldness when he hopped on to the cart but too giddy to care, and Sander’s grin was wide and sharp as they barrelled down the near empty aisles. They discussed David Bowie and Amber’s weird shopping list and Sander made Robbe laugh more than he had in weeks. He asked Robbe if he was okay when they knocked over that stack of boxes, earnest and panicked as Robbe sprawled over the linoleum, before turning away, nonchalant and cool, whistling off-key as he ambled towards the check-out. Robbe scrambled after him, pressing his teeth into his lower lip to stop his grin from taking over his face.

Sander had watched Robbe quietly, gaze exhilarating and oddly familiar, across that small space in the kitchen when they got back, the smell of fried butter and weed weirdly intoxicating as music played tinnily from Sander’s phone, and Robbe tried to ignore the way his shoulder felt hot under his t-shirt, like a sunburn in the shape of Sander’s palm, as they circled around each other like a dance. 

Britt interrupted them, breaking the fragile  _ thing _ that had been growing between them all morning as she wrapped her arms around Sander’s neck. Robbe felt, with a horrible sense of deja vu, that cloying jealousy that used to choke him when he would watch Britt with Jens. He had tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, but it didn’t work, crowding his windpipe and pressing down on his vocal chords. And Sander -- this  _ stranger _ , who Robbe had only known for a couple of  _ hours _ \-- had looked at him, sheepish almost, as Britt said something about how she hoped Sander wasn’t being annoying, pressing her temple against Sander’s own, blonde hair tangling together briefly, a gradient of colour. And Robbe had wanted to snap at her, admonish her for saying something so unkind about her own boyfriend when Sander had been anything but annoying, but Robbe had only offered a strained smile, unable to say much of anything, as she pulled Sander away.

Robbe had stayed in the kitchen after they’d gone, taking shallow drags of the joint that Sander had rolled, trying not to think about the curve of Sander’s mouth as he licked the paper, or the fact that Sander’s lips had touched the same filter that Robbe had tucked between his own. His tongue had felt fuzzy, partly from the smoke and partly because the sandwich had been too hot, burning cheese oozing over his tongue as he chewed slowly, not even bothering to take the croque from Sander’s hand as he took a bite. Sander had snorted a quiet huff of laughter as Robbe did so, watching, and Robbe met his gaze, hair windswept and doe-eyed.

His stare followed Sander for the rest of the week, through the hazy warped air above a bonfire and the visor of a helmet. At times, Robbe thought that Sander must have been looking at him too, because when Robbe’s gaze travelled to the older boy — across a crowded room with neon-painted walls — he found that Sander, eyes rimmed with fake blood, was already staring back. 

Robbe broke up with Noor less than two weeks later, the ghost of Sander’s touch heavy on the back of his neck and the smell of chlorine strong in his nostrils despite being nowhere near a swimming pool.

* * *

“Yeah, she’s doing really good, thanks,” Robbe said, answering Senne’s question about his mum. “She went back to work part-time a couple of weeks ago, so.” He raised his chin in acknowledgement as a classmate passed them in the hallway.

“That’s really good, Robbe,” said Senne, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m glad she’s doing okay.” He offered Robbe a sincere smile, which Robbe returned. “How is it living at home again?” Senne asked.

“It was a bit weird at first,” Robbe answered honestly, shrugging slightly. “You know, I got used to having my own space -- even with Milan pestering me all the time.” Senne smirked, nodding in understanding. “I miss you guys, though,” Robbe added, wincing in apology when he realised what he said. Senne wasn’t living at the flat share by the time Robbe moved out. “Sorry, Senne,” Robbe said quietly, after an awkward pause. Senne let it pass without comment, face carefully blank. “It’s nice to be living with her again, anway,” said Robbe, suddenly desperate to move on from the conversation.

“And she’s chill about--” Senne started, trailing off. Robbe saw Senne’s eyes flit over his shoulder to look at someone else in the hallway a second before he felt arms wrap around his waist, Sander’s hand spreading wide and low over Robbe’s abdomen.

“Hi, cutie,” Sander whispered. Robbe lifted his hand to cover Sander’s, slotting their fingers together against his stomach as Sander swayed them gently once from side to side. “Hey, Senne.”

Senne raised his beer bottle in front of him, tilting it towards Sander in greeting. He shifted slightly as he leant against the wall. “Hey, man,” he said. “It’s been a while.” Robbe didn’t think they’d spoken properly since Senne came back to the flat a few days after he’d moved out to collect the rest of his stuff — before Sander had gone back home and Robbe had moved back in with his mum. Robbe had barely seen Senne himself; Senne seemed to be deliberately avoiding any gathering that would run the risk of him seeing Zoē — although that was easier than it used to be since Senne was no longer in high school and they ran in different crowds. Robbe knew Senne still spoke to Milan sometimes, though: Milan had told Robbe so. “How’re you doing?” Senne asked Sander.

“Can’t complain,” Sander said easily. Robbe heard the smile in Sander’s voice, felt the way it bunched Sander’s cheek as it stretched across his mouth with the side of his face pressed to Robbe’s hair. “You okay?” he asked Senne.

Senne lifted the shoulder that he didn’t have pressed against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest with his hand curled loosely around his own elbow. His beer dangled from his other hand, the bottleneck caught between two fingers. The glass made a dull thud as it knocked gently against the wall. Senne made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Robbe waited for him to continue, Sander a quiet presence pressed against his back, as Senne tipped his head to the side, dark hair brushing against the plaster. His body was a single slanted line as he leant against the wall, and he took a deep breath before speaking again, eyes moving between Robbe and Sander. “I’ve started seeing someone,” he said, a steely tone to his voice that didn’t match the guilty set of his shoulders, the slight tuck of his chin -- like he was waiting for the boys to call him out.

Senne’s eyes darted to the living room doorway across the hall, where Robbe knew Zoë was talking to Yasmina.

Robbe was careful to keep his face neutral following Senne’s confession — but Sander must have failed, eyebrows lifting or the corner of his mouth twitching, because Senne’s expression shuttered when he turned his stare back to the two of them, a brief shadow crossing over his face. When he raised his shoulder again for a second time, it was defensive. “It’s not like anything is going to happen with Zoë,” he said bitterly. He took an aggressive swig of his beer. “She won’t even speak to me right now,” he added, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Robbe felt Sander sigh softly. He knew that Zoë had talked to Sander about Senne a few weeks ago when they had met to buy a present for Milan — Sander had told him about the conversation over the phone later that evening. And Robbe knew that the pair had discussed it briefly in the kitchen when they first got to the party, Zoe leaving a smudge of her lipstick on the cut of Sander’s cheekbone that Robbe had to wipe away with his thumb. Robbe had tried to raise the issue himself with Zoë numerous times, but he was always dismissed quickly — or she would change the topic entirely, his words unacknowledged. He appreciated that it was probably easier for Zoë to talk about it with Sander, who didn’t know Senne that well, and had more experience with relationships than Robbe did. And Robbe knew that a bond had formed between the two that Tuesday morning in the tiny flat share kitchen, exhaustion settling deep in their bones, eyes itchy from crying and blonde hair rumpled from sleep — or lack thereof. 

Robbe didn’t mind that Zoē chose to speak to Sander over him, as long as she was talking to someone. And he loved that Sander had been accepted so easily — that he was one of them now.

“I think you’ve just got to give her some time, Senne,” Sander said gently.

“I’ve given her time!” Senne snapped, hot-headed and sharp, and Sander pulled Robbe back tighter against him, instinctive. Robbe stroked reassuring fingers over the back of Sander’s hand:  _ it’s okay _ . Senne’s gaze darted to the movement, his mouth clicking shut. Robbe could see a muscle working in his jaw, the deliberate way he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry,” Senne muttered. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe assured him. Senne lifted a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwing shut. “Honestly, Senne, it’s chill.” Senne sighed again.

“What’s their name?” Sander asked after an awkward beat of silence. “The person you’re seeing?”

“Oh,” Senne said. “Um, it’s Nina.” He dropped his hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow again. “She’s cool,” he added half-heartedly.

“Cool,” said Sander, an acknowledgment rather than an echo. Robbe could feel him nodding, his hair brushing against the shell of Robbe’s ear. “How did you meet?” 

“Uh, a mutual friend,” Senne said. “They set us up -- said it was about time I “moved on”.” He lifted his hand to make quotation marks with his fingers as he spoke.

Robbe felt a dull pang in his chest, remembering the few times he had tried to get over Sander in vain. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like trying to do it now. “That’s really good, Senne,” Robbe told him sincerely. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Senne mumbled before draining the last of his beer. He held the bottle up in front of them, shaking it as if to prove its emptiness. “I’m gonna,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. He pushed himself away from the wall. “It was good talking to you guys,” he said. He clapped a hand on Sander’s shoulder as he walked away.

The couple stood still for a second, pressed together and staring at the space that Senne had just vacated. “Does Zoë know he’s dating?” Robbe asked quietly. 

“I don’t think so,” Sander replied slowly. “She hasn’t said anything to me, anyway.”

“Me neither,” Robbe said. He twisted in Sander’s embrace, hands reaching up to press against Sander’s collarbones. His beer bottle rested against Sander’s chest, the condensation on the glass leaving a damp imprint on his t-shirt. This close, Robbe had to tilt his head back slightly to look at Sander’s face properly. “Shit,” he exhaled.

Sander nodded, head turning to look towards the living room. The disco-ball was still rotating slowly on its shelf, and it cast a sequence of colours over Sander’s hair, redbluegreen “Shit,” he agreed.

“Do you think we should tell her?” asked Robbe, following Sander’s gaze. Robbe knew how painful it was to see the person that you loved with someone else. Two different memories of Sander and Britt together, club lights pulsing and music pounding, flashed across his brain, one and then the other. Sander squeezed Robbe’s waist gently, turning to face Robbe again with the corner of his mouth pulling down. It was like he knew what Robbe was remembering, offering a silent apology. Robbe tapped his index finger once against Sander’s collarbone,  _ I forgive you _ . “Before she finds out from someone else, I mean?” Robbe added.

Sander puffed his cheeks out, eyebrows lifting once quickly, before letting out a noisy exhalation. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe?” He squinted one eye shut. “What do you think?”

Robbe didn’t know. On the one hand, he felt like Zoë deserved to know, but on the other hand, Zoë had broken up with Senne -- she was the entire reason he was seeing someone else in the first place. “I think,” Robbe started slowly, “that if we tell her, she’s going to say she doesn’t care -- or that it’s not her place to care.” Sander nodded in agreement. “And,” Robbe added, voice dropping to just above a whisper because he felt bad for what he was about to say next, “it’s not like Senne seemed that excited about this new girl, anyway.” 

“True,” Sander said. He inhaled deeply, pulling Robbe closer as his hands moved up from Robbe’s waist to press flat against the wings of Robbe’s shoulder blades. “Young love,” he said dramatically, head tilting to the side with an exaggerated eye roll. 

Robbe felt a grin spreading across his face despite himself, and he punched Sander’s shoulder gently with a quiet tut. “Like you’re any better!” Robbe laughed. “With your breaking and entering and your murals.” 

Sander made a face, muttering a stream of nonsense in a poor imitation of Robbe before leaning down to press their lips together. “You love it,” Sander whispered against Robbe’s mouth. 

Robbe made a happy noise in his throat, elbow hooking around Sander’s neck and keeping him close. “I do,” he confirmed, before placing another peck to Sander’s lips. Sander’s hand snaked up to cup the back of his neck, fingers curling in the hair at Robbe’s nape. 

Sometimes, Robbe couldn’t believe that this was his life now, his and his boyfriend’s grinning mouths pressed together in a crowded hallway at a party on a Friday night. 

It felt like years had passed since he’d kissed Noor in that bathroom. 

“Oi!” Robbe felt a hand cuff the back of his head. Sander grunted quietly against his mouth, the shocked sound evidence that he’d suffered the same fate. “Lovebirds!” Robbe pulled back to see Moyo standing next to them — Robbe still wasn’t used to the blonde shock of Moyo’s hair. 

The shit-eating grin on Moyo’s face indicated that he’d been standing there a while.

Robbe let his head drop forward, forehead pressing against Sander’s jaw with a groan. His friends never gave them peace. “What,” he said flatly. His arms were still wrapped around Sander’s neck.

“Beer pong,” Moyo said. He held up a ping-pong ball, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, which had previously been hidden somewhere on his person. “Rematch.” 

Sander shifted, burrowing his face into Robbe’s neck with a quiet sigh. His hair tickled Robbe’s chin. “Don’t you have Noor to flirt with or something?” he grumbled, voice muffled against Robbe’s skin. Robbe giggled.

“Fuck off,” Moyo said without feeling. Then, begrudgingly: “She’s not here yet.” Sander snorted, and Robbe bit his lip to keep himself from doing the same. “C’mon,” Moyo whined, bringing his hands together briefly in a pleading gesture, like a prayer. “Play with me!”

Sander pulled his face away from his hiding place with a huff, offering Moyo a bored look.

Robbe rose up slightly on his tiptoes, bringing himself to Sander’s height as he pressed the side of his face to boyfriend’s, temple to temple. Sander’s arm fell back naturally to wrap around Robbe’s waist. Without looking, Robbe knew Sander was pouting, and he pet gently at his boyfriend’s neck, placating. Moyo watched the short exchange blankly, used to the way they wrapped around each other. “Can’t you play with Aaron?” Robbe asked, tone patient as if he was speaking to a small child. 

Moyo’s face screwed up briefly. “Um,  _ no! _ ” he said, as if Robbe was stupid for even suggesting such a thing. Moyo threw his arm out to the side, pointing towards the staircase. Sander turned to look in the direction of Moyo’s finger, swivelling his torso to the side and craning his neck. Robbe didn’t even bother to lift his weight from Sander’s chest, letting himself slump forward with the movement instead, peering around Sander’s shoulder. “He’s busy sucking face with Amber,” Moyo explained with slight disgust.

All three boys took a second to watch their friend, a beat of silent understanding passing between them.

Aaron and Amber had migrated from where they had been propped up by the hallway wall earlier to the foot of the staircase, where Aaron had Amber pressed against the banister. To Moyo’s credit, Robbe thought, “sucking face” was a very accurate description. Robbe hadn’t even noticed them when he entered the hallway, either just from sheer ignorance of their being there, or because it had been his brain’s way of protecting him from the spectacle.

“Oh, God,” Robbe said with mild revulsion, feeling his face contort as he watched his friends. Sander twisted back to face the other way, and Robbe wasn’t sure if it was to spare himself or Robbe from the very public display of affection. 

Moyo threw his hands up in the air with a triumphant raise of his eyebrows, his point made. “See,” he said. “Now  _ play with me _ ,” he whined. 

Without missing a beat, Sander stretched forward and snatched the ping pong ball from Moyo’s fingers, before promptly bouncing it off of Moyo’s forehead. The ball landed on the floorboards with a quiet  _ tap _ before rolling away. Moyo blinked in shock, stare dropping to the floor to follow its journey before lifting slowly back to Sander with a wounded look. Robbe watched the exchange with wide-eyed glee.

“In case you didn’t notice,” Sander started mildly, “before you _rudely_ _interrupted_ _us—_ ” Moyo rolled his eyes, evidently already over Sander’s betrayal — “Robbe and I were also busy “sucking face”.” Robbe knew it pained Sander to use the phrase — but he could also tell how much fun Sander was having teasing Moyo like this. 

Moyo huffed, turning beseeching eyes to Robbe. 

“You  _ know _ I agree with Sander,” Robbe said, exasperated as he tried to stifle a giggle. Moyo pouted. “Go find someone else to play with.”

“Where’s Jens?” Sander asked. By this point, he was also speaking as if addressing a toddler. Robbe loved this boy  _ so much _ .

“Still in the kitchen,” Moyo grumbled. “Pining after Jana, or something.” Sander nodded, letting out a quiet “ah” in understanding. Robbe couldn’t even defend his best friend: Jens had a tendency to trail after Jana like a lovesick puppy, despite Jens adamantly insisting that he didn’t want to get back together with her. 

“I don’t know what you want us to tell you, man,” said Robbe, shrugging one shoulder and sucking a breath between his teeth, as if to say there was no way they could help Moyo with his predicament. “We’re not risking losing our title.” Sander shook his head in apology, like he was powerless to change Robbe’s mind. Which was bullshit, Robbe knew: Sander took just as much pride in winning as Robbe did — especially against Moyo and Jens.

Moyo scowled, stooping down to retrieve the ping-pong ball. “Just because you two have an unfair advantage when it comes to balls,” he muttered to the floor.

“Clever,” Robbe said dryly, voice overlapping Sander’s as Sander said, “Original.” They raised their middle fingers to their friend in sync, hands held in front of Moyo’s face as he straightened up.

“No one likes a sore loser, Moyo,” said Sander sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Moyo offered him a withering look, batting their hands away. Robbe laughed, catching Sander’s fingers with his own.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Moyo huffed, pocketing the ping-pong ball. “You guys suck,” he added emphatically as he walked away, heading towards the open front door with the obvious intention of finding other willing participants in the garden.

“Only if you ask nicely!” Sander called towards Moyo’s retreating back, rising slightly on his toes to shout over Robbe’s head.

“I’m sure Noor will play with you!” Robbe added, voice pitched to be heard above the music. He was only brave enough to say so because he knew Noor wasn’t there yet. 

They both laughed when Moyo flung his arm out behind him without bothering to turn around, middle finger raised high in the air.

* * *

“It’s Friday,” Sander said, voice pitched to a low murmur as his lips brushed the shell of Robbe’s ear. Sander shifted slightly, foot slipping slowly towards the end of the deckchair where Noor was perched, pretending not to watch Moyo as he spoke to Jens. Robbe curled his hand around Sander’s knee to keep it still, playing with a loose thread from the rip in Sander’s jeans. 

“Oh, yeah?” Robbe asked. He leant back, snuggling further into Sander’s chest as he used his other hand to pull the leather jacket across his front. He was warm despite the February air, and his body felt light from the beer and the weed. A small smile tugged at the corner of Robbe’s mouth, languid, as he kept his gaze ahead of him, watching the embers from the chiminea rising slowly in the air. The fire made a quiet popping noise, glowing brighter for a second before settling back to a quiet hiss. He tipped his head back lazily to rest on Sander’s shoulder, letting it loll to the side so he could skim his nose along the cut of Sander’s jaw. “And why is that important?” Robbe asked innocently, teasing. 

Sander pulled back slightly, looking at Robbe down the length of his nose. “ _ Because _ ,” Sander said, eyes bugging out for a moment to tell Robbe he was missing something obvious, “it’s  _ Friday. _ ” 

Robbe made a concerted effort to keep his face blank as Sander blinked at him. He doubled down at Sander’s increasingly frustrated expression, making his brow furrow briefly to convey his apparent confusion. 

For the most part, Robbe’s mum had been relatively cool about Sander staying the night. She wasn’t stupid: she knew that Sander had practically been living at the flatshare before Christmas -- and she understood why. Not that it was only about the sex: both boys just  _ slept _ better when they shared a bed. But a mother still had boundaries when it came to her sixteen year old son and his college boyfriend. A few days after Robbe had moved back home, and after a very awkward conversation over breakfast that Robbe never wanted to think about again, it was agreed that Sander could stay over on weekends -- providing Robbe had finished all his school work. Sander’s mum had been happy to let Robbe sleep over whenever he wanted -- Sander was legally an adult now, and his mother let him make his own decisions -- but the boys respected Robbe’s mum’s wishes, wanting to stay on her good side. However, if Sander happened to sweet-talk his way into staying over on a school night sometimes -- because Robbe’s mum  _ loved  _ Sander -- Robbe wasn’t going to try and stop him.

Nevertheless, they could always rely on Fridays. 

“Robbe,” Sander whined. He curled his fingers in Robbe’s jacket, thumping his fist gently against Robbe’s chest. He pressed his mouth to the bolt of Robbe’s jaw, breath damp against Robbe’s skin as he whispered, “ _ Sleepover _ .” 

Robbe suppressed a shiver, mouth dropping open slightly at the touch before he recovered. “Oh,  _ that _ ,” he said mildly. “I didn’t even realise.” Sander made an unimpressed noise in the back of his throat, and Robbe noticed Noor covering her mouth out the corner of his eye, trying to stifle her laughter at their conversation. Robbe grinned.

“You’re hilarious,” Sander deadpanned, arms curling tighter around Robbe’s waist. Noor pet Sander’s foot once in sympathy, still trying to hide her smirk, and Sander glared at her.

“I know,” replied Robbe with a grin. He squeaked as cold hands slipped under his t-shirt, pressing against his skin. He craned his neck up to press a kiss to Sander’s jaw. “As if I’d ever forget our sleepovers, silly man,” he whispered.

(The first time Sander slept over, Robbe was partly convinced Sander wasn’t even going to be there by the time he woke up:

“I’ve never done that before,” Robbe said quietly, breaking the fragile silence that hung in the air between them. His eyes were trained on the ceiling, rib cage rising softly as his breathing slowly started to even out, fingertips pressed into familiar sheets. Sander had settled on the mattress beside him, lifting his face from where it had been hidden in Robbe’s neck after collapsing on top of him. Robbe had immediately missed the weight of Sander’s body atop of his own when he moved away, brushing a gentle kiss to Robbe’s bare shoulder like a greeting (or a farewell, Robbe wasn’t sure) before retreating to the other side of the bed. 

Robbe felt more than saw Sander turn his head to look at him after his confession, white-blonde hair brushing against the cotton of the pillow with a quiet rustle. The weight of Sander’s stare lay heavy on the side of Robbe’s face, a brand on his already flushed cheek, but Robbe kept his gaze fixed determinedly above him, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling.

“What?” Sander asked, voice barely above a murmur, like he, too, felt the need to protect this bubble that they had created. Robbe saw Sander twist onto his side in his periphery, Sander’s hand resting in the No Man’s Land between their bodies. “Robbe,” Sander added, a little louder, when Robbe didn’t say anything else, his hand stuttering forward to graze his fingers against Robbe’s forearm. Robbe’s fingers twitched. “What do you mean?”

Robbe took a deep breath, eyes slipping shut briefly before turning his head to meet Sander’s gaze. Sander’s face was soft in the warm light of the room, hair messy and lips a swollen, bitten red — but there was a slant to his brows that complimented the stern set of his jaw, an anxious question in his eyes as he looked at Robbe. “I’ve never done anything like that with anyone before,” Robbe explained. 

“But Britt said that you and Noor—” Sander’s voice trailed off, his forehead wrinkling briefly in confusion, as Robbe shook his head. Sander’s eyes roamed over Robbe’s face. “Really?” he asked. 

“Really,” said Robbe. He turned onto his side to face Sander, pressing his burning cheek into the cool pillowcase. “I tried to,” he explained. “With Noor, I mean.” A dark expression passed quickly over Sander’s face, clearing again with a blink. “But I couldn’t--” Robbe cut himself off, embarrassed, rolling his lips into his mouth. They felt sore, swollen and sensitive. Sander didn’t say anything, silently watching Robbe from the other side of the bed. He lifted his hand from the mattress, cupping Robbe’s face, his thumb sweeping over the curve of Robbe’s cheekbone, the delicate skin under Robbe’s eye. It was soothing, and Robbe felt his eyes slip shut, lids heavy. He suddenly felt tired again. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?” Robbe breathed. The backs of his eyelids glowed softly in the dim light of the room, turning darker as a shadow passed over them.

Robbe felt Sander brush a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah,” Sander said quietly, “I’ll be here tomorrow. 

When Robbe woke up the next morning, he thought he had been proven right: Sander wasn’t there. Robbe had searched the flat futilely, asking Milan and Senne if they’d seen him -- not caring that it meant that Senne  _ knew _ , because what did it matter when nothing was going to happen anyway? And Milan had told him it was probably a misunderstanding, that something had come up, and Senne had told him not to stress, and Robbe had let them think they were right when he knew that they were wrong, because Sander had lied again, which meant he didn’t actually love Robbe and he wasn’t coming back -- until he did, appearing round the kitchen doorway with a bag of fresh croissants and a soft smile. And Robbe wanted him to stay every night, forever.)

* * *

“Are you okay?” asked Sander as they cycled slowly side by side, their fingers interlaced loosely between them. They’d collected their bikes from outside Moyo’s after the party ended, Jens turning off a few streets earlier. It was quiet as they made their way back to Robbe’s house, damp pavements glistening under the streetlights in the early hours of the morning.

Robbe turned his head to look at Sander, and his bike wobbled slightly, swerving closer to his boyfriend before Robbe quickly righted it again. Sander knew that Robbe still felt nervous sometimes when they were alone like this at night, just the two of them, where someone could appear suddenly and hurt them, but Robbe knew that that wasn’t what Sander was talking about. “Shouldn’t I be asking  _ you _ that question?” Robbe asked, evasive. 

Sander offered Robbe a pointed look, fringe ruffling slightly in the breeze, exposing his dark roots as his hair lifted from his forehead. It was Robbe’s favourite when it looked like that. “That’s not how this works, baby,” Sander reminded him gently.

Robbe let out a frustrated huff. “I _ know _ ,” he said. “I’m fine. I  _ promise _ ,” he stressed when Sander didn’t look convinced. “It’s not like it was my first time seeing her again,” mumbled Robbe after a few seconds of silence. He’d seen Britt countless times at school in the past two months, in the courtyard and across the corridor. They’d determinedly ignored each other every time. 

“No, I know,” Sander said patiently. He glanced at Robbe quickly before looking ahead again, and he let their hands drop for a second as he skirted around a bin. Sander stretched his arm out automatically as soon as they were close enough, and Robbe linked their fingers together again. “But I’m just saying: you’re allowed to be upset about it.” 

Robbe chewed on his lower lip in contemplation, thinking back to his conversation with Yasmina in the living room. The wheels of their bikes whirred monotonously as they turned the pedals over, the gentle clicking the only noise between the two of them. “It doesn’t make me a bad boyfriend if I was?” he asked eventually, voice quiet. 

“What?” Sander asked, perplexed. He squeezed his brakes slowly, with enough warning that Robbe could do the same so he wasn’t pulled off balance by their joined hands, and Sander’s boots made a scuffing noise against the path. Robbe let his feet drop to the ground, bringing his own bike to a halt, his arm stretched out behind him as he stopped a few inches in front of Sander. “Robbe,  _ no _ ,” Sander told him fiercely. “Of course it doesn’t -- why would it?” 

Robbe twisted around awkwardly, still astride his bike, to look at Sander. He let go of Sander’s hand, pressing his palm against the seat of his bike to steady himself. His hands felt cold suddenly, and he absently wondered if Sander’s did too. Robbe watched as Sander curled his fingers around his handlebars, eyes trained on Robbe’s face as he waited for Robbe to elaborate. There was a look of genuine confusion on his face, like he couldn’t even begin to comprehend why Robbe would worry about such a thing. Neither of them made the effort to move closer to the pavement: there was no one else around, and if anyone did appear, they could easily go around them. Robbe swallowed, eyes lifting skyward, before asking, “You don’t think it’s selfish?”

“How the hell is it selfish?” Sander asked. Robbe could tell he wasn’t angry at the question, more baffled that Robbe was asking it in the first place. And didn’t that just sum up Sander’s opinion of Robbe perfectly: because Sander couldn’t understand how Robbe could see himself as anything less than selfless. 

Robbe’s gaze dropped to the ground. He steadied the bike between his legs, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie down over his hand where it peaked out of his jacket, self-conscious. 

“Robbe.” 

Robbe’s fingers twisted around the material, his palm sweaty. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Because it didn’t happen to me,” he eventually muttered, more to himself than anything. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head to meet Sander’s eye. Sander looked back at him, and Robbe was reminded vividly of the time they had stood at opposite ends of that bike park, watching each other cautiously days after Robbe had blown everything apart. “Britt didn’t do anything to me,” Robbe said on an exhale. 

A line appeared between Sander’s eyebrows as he frowned, forehead furrowing. He looked upset, and Robbe wanted to snatch his words back, pluck them from the air and swallow them down. “Yes, she did,” Sander said, voice low. “She  _ did _ ,” he insisted, voice rising slightly when Robbe scoffed quietly, eyes dropping to his hands again. “ _ Baby _ .” Robbe glanced up briefly; Sander was leaning forward, hands linked together in front of him as he rested his forearms on his handlebars. His head was tilted slightly to the side, trying to catch Robbe’s eye. “She hurt you, too,” said Sander softly.

“Not really,” Robbe argued -- and this was why he hadn’t really wanted to bring it up in the first place: he knew Sander would diminish his own pain if Robbe mentioned how he was feeling. Because who was Robbe to complain about Britt when Sander was the one that she had actually hurt -- the one that she had diminished to his illness, the one that she had  _ slapped _ . Robbe’s blood boiled suddenly, hot and fierce, at the memory. “Not in the way she hurt you.” 

“Are you actually trying to argue with me about this?” Sander teased gently, huffing incredulously. The beginnings of an amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Robbe felt his face flush. “Robbe,” Sander said quietly, imploring. He waited until Robbe met his eyes again. “I’m okay. Honestly.” Robbe believed him. “But it’s fine if you’re not, too,” added Sander.

Robbe took a slow breath, contemplating what he wanted to say. “It’s not like…” he started, frustrated when he couldn’t find the right words. “I’m not upset  _ for me _ , you know? I’m upset for  _ you _ \-- that she treated you like that.” Sander just watched him, silently waiting for Robbe to continue. Robbe fiddled with his sleeve again. “Yeah, I mean, it sucked when she said that stuff about you — and about us,, but...” When Britt told Robbe that he was just a side effect of his bipolar, that Sander didn’t actually love him. Sander nodded encouragingly, understanding. “I think I’m more upset that I believed her at the time,” Robbe said quietly. It was the first time he’d ever said it so explicitly. They’d talked about it, of course, about why Sander had hidden it from him, and what had happened in those few days that they’d been apart for the last time, but thinking about that night still felt like pressing on a bruise, painful and bittersweet.

Sander didn’t say anything at first, letting the words settle between them. And then: “I don’t blame you, Robbe.” When Robbe lifted his gaze again, Sander was looking at him with an earnest expression on his face. “I never did.” 

Robbe didn’t deserve this boy. “You’re too nice to me sometimes,” Robbe told Sander honestly.

“I mean...” Sander inhaled deeply as he spoke, eyebrows inching up his forehead. He leant back from his stooped position over the front of the bike, fingers curling around the handlebars again. He pushed himself forward clumsily, the toe of his boot dragging across the ground, until he was next to Robbe again. “It’s probably something to do with the fact that I’m in love with you,” Sander said. He made a face, screwing one eye up and mouth twisting to the side, as if to convey there was nothing he could do about this predicament. 

“Oh, yeah?” Robbe asked, reaching forward to curl his fingers around the front of Sander’s jacket. He knew that Sander was deliberately trying to lighten the mood, and Robbe was happy to let him. It wouldn’t be the last time they had the conversation, Robbe knew, but they could leave it for now.

Sander nodded sincerely in response to Robbe’s question. “It’s a real problem,” he said, tone serious. “It’s basically impossible for me not to be nice to you.” 

Robbe rolled his eyes, but he tugged softly on the leather in his grip. Sander swayed forward to steal a kiss, and Robbe took a second to open his eyes again when Sander pulled back, keeping their faces close together. “I love you, too,” Robbe whispered. 

“Well, that’s good,” Sander quipped, grin stretching across his mouth again, “because this would have been fucking awkward otherwise.” Robbe huffed in shock, pushing at Sander’s shoulder playfully. Sander reached up to cover Robbe’s hand with his own, trapping it against his chest. They looked at each other for a beat. “Can we go home now?” Sander asked. “I’m cold.”

Robbe rolled his eyes again, but he pulled his hand away to steady his bike. “Sure,” he said, pushing off easily as Sander did the same. “I mean,” Robbe couldn’t help but add, laughter already bubbling in his throat, “you’ll jump butt-naked into a pool in November but  _ now _ you’re cold.”

At first, Sander didn’t take the bait, staring resolutely ahead as he cycled. And then: “It was _ one time _ , Robbe!” he burst out suddenly. Robbe cackled. “You were there!” Sander yelled to the sky. “You were also naked!” 

Robbe reached over to pat Sander’s shoulder sympathetically. “I know, baby.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, my loves.
> 
> My tumblr: [wasteourdays](https://wasteourdays.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me here: [wasteourdays](https://wasteourdays.tumblr.com/)


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